


Dowager

by HaephestusCrex



Category: MCU, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-06-09 11:04:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6903289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaephestusCrex/pseuds/HaephestusCrex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One moment it was the happiest day of your life, the next, the worst. You, a one-woman vengeance wave are hellbent on ruining HYDRA and all that they stand for, and you don't care who or what stands in your way. It isn't about being good, or being super - it is about loss, pure and simple. HYDRA had taken it all, and you were going to make them pay. The newly reformed SHIELD runs into a woman who wants to bring down HYDRA to their knees, the Avengers don't know what to make of it all, and you're about ready to pick a fight with anyone, even Gods. </p><p>Being a hero is the last thing on your mind.</p><p>[Reader Insert Romance story, taking ship suggestions]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. By the Power Vested In Me

**Author's Note:**

> [[[ This is set in an MCU AU based after the events of Civil War, I don't read the comics but I do a little research, I will take suggestions on ships and I'm a sporadic updater. This will have some extremely mature themes so I've ventured to not use archive warnings. If you want a content warning, all I can say is "Warning: EVERYTHING," - it's a love story, but it's also a tale of vengeance, healing, loss, adventure, and friendship. Please leave feedback if you like it. This chapter is a setup chapter and while it may seem like nothing Avenger-related is happening, it's your origin story and I implore you to give it a chance ]]]

 

**By the Power Vested in Me**

 

You, a career woman, dressed to the nines and brimming with confidence and power, the sort of woman that little girls looked up at and wanted to be. You were a sign of success and hard work, somebody who put endless amounts of hours into becoming a titan of their field when studying International Relations at university. The kind of woman who didn’t have time to date in high school because you were too busy flying through your exams, with a burning need to prove yourself, to exceed any and all expectations, because your family always set the bar low. It bothered you that they thought so little of your capabilities, that you couldn’t be as good as your siblings, it was the soft bigotry of low expectations, and you _crushed them,_ your brother may be a successful regional manager for a fastfood chain but you were a goddamn peace ambassador for the USA, neck deep in the inner workings of the United Nations and European Union, the hotbed of foreign relations with dictatorship countries and the flagrant abuse of POWs and human rights violations. It had taken several years of working and studying the roots of Middle Eastern conflict, the history of Asia and the political minefield left in the wake of the Cold War with regards to Russia, all while attending classes in Asian languages, a short course in conversational Mandarin which was probably the hardest thing you’d ever done, with a primary focus on Arabic since a lot of the conflict you dealt with, as well as business, was with Arabic speaking nations. The dialects were many and you were no genius or you’d have aimed for every language you could, your Mandarin was still a hot mess but you could understand conversations at the very least. If you felt like you had any room in your mind with the schedule you had, you might have even gone for Korean, though the last ambassador sent there didn’t actually come back, you were somewhat relieved that you’d abandoned that line of thought for now.

 

You lost most of your friends moving away for university, and one other ended up moving to New York, which just left you – you who worked yourself to death, and then took graveyard shifts at a 24 hour gas station just to help pay your accommodation fees and get cheap food. Your groceries for half your life were literally staff discounted gas station supplies.

 

“In short, I busted my ass to get where I am, but you can do this, you wouldn’t be here, on this course, if you didn’t think you had something to offer the world. You _can_ do good in this world, it _will_ be hard, but you get exactly what you put in. Cast aside any aspersions others may have set for you, they will not live your life _for you!”_ your voice booming through a microphone as you stared into the eyes of many International Relations students, eyes going wide, even girls who were previously tapping away on their smartphones in the auditorium had stopped, and all paid their fullest attention.

 

“ _You_ will live with the consequences of your actions, it will make your victories taste that much sweeter when you find yourself standing at this podium, just as I am, staring at the next generation of unsung heroes. Yes, you may find this dramatic – but it is peace ambassadors that don’t don capes but do some of the hardest behind the scenes work in humanitarian duties to the world. It is _us_ who go into dictatorship nations for the people who need help the most, it is _us_ who also….have to endure hours and hours of long foreign trade contract debates and have to keep our eyes open,” a twitch of a smile on your lips as your dramatic speech took a somewhat humorous curve.

“If you have any questions, I will be around for a short while afterwards, I’m not nearly as mean as I look,” you grinned, and began collecting your speech flash cards in your hand, the sound of paper shuffling feeding through a mic a little.  “-but after that I have a certain game to get to, and I’m sure you do too,”

 

At that, an uproarious applause rippled through the room, and a staff member escorted you off stage.

 

 Which was good, because your feet hurt in these heels, and you really needed a drink of water, and the AC needed to be turned up rather desperately. The University of Kentucky was a nice place, you’d have to meet some of the alumni from here, or check out the student hangouts, because the atmosphere was so much more pleasant than the Ivy League institution that last booked you as a guest speaker. Somehow, you’d been talked into going to see a basketball game of all things, and you weren’t even much into sports, but, as a friendly staff member told you – it would be blasphemy to come for such talk during a piping hot summer’s day while there’d be a game on and _not see it._

 

Plus, free tickets for decent seats in Rupp Arena was hard to say no to. Who could say no to the low, low price of “Free”?

 

You couldn’t say you knew terribly much about basketball, but the charged atmosphere of raw excitement had you jumping in your heels in your business suit, your blazer removed and wrapped around your waist, a Gold Star Chilli coney hotdog in your hand which was absolutely slathered in cheese that you could almost feel the diabetes radiating from, but God – you could even stand the hot weather and the screaming because it was so rare to be stood in such a charged atmosphere of joy and excitement.

 

You jumped on your aching heels and grinned widely, pumping the hotdog holding fist in the air, whooping loudly, the words “Go Wildcats!” leaving your lips just to ease into the amorphous haze of glee that circulated through the crowd and it didn’t take very long for you to believe in the spirit of what you were doing. It was your first ever basketball game you’d ever seen live, with a basic understanding of the rules, but it was an eye-opening experience, one you’d stack right up with going to university and leaving home.

 

The next wave of cheers had you in full spirits, almost snapping your left high heel but you didn’t care, this was _amazing._

 

At least, until part of the cheese precariously placed over your fat coney hotdog had slid off the top and dropped directly onto the person below in the stand.

 

You didn’t really expect to meet the love of your life by dropping greasy cheese on him from a basketball stand, it was hardly the classic Renaissance romance, but God, you wouldn’t have changed it for anything in the world. You cringed, looking down at the head of soft, brown hair and a man with a fair, grizzly amount of stubble turned around, a fair few swear words right on the tip of his tongue in the midst of the cheering.

 

And then the words died on his lips, not that you could have heard him over the crowd until the cheering died down. You stared at him and felt your face heating up in embarrassment, reaching into the pocket of the blazer at your waist until you found some tissues and lamely passed them down for the excess of cheese on the man. It was a completely deft and graceless action, completely thrown off by how grey his eyes were, they shined in a way that was all too pretty for a man, you thought, and he had a strong jaw and broad shoulders, the kind of man that you looked at and saw “All American” when you saw him.

 

And he was looking at you much the same way, the same gormless, graceless stare as you gave out a small apology, absolutely mortified, heat burning around your ears. Your heart felt like it wanted to fall out of your ass, and for some reason you couldn’t sound nearly as intelligent as you had a few hours previous.

 

 _“Sorry, I’m so sorry,”_ you managed, in a breathy whisper.

 

And he was staring at you like you were the most beautiful girl in the country, your words seeming to snap him out of the time-slowed stupor that had captured you both with a vice-like grip. The man spoke back with a beautiful southern lilt that even having been in Kentucky for two days now, was so much stronger than you were used to, the sort you saw on TV shows set in the country.

 

“Not to worry ma’am, not to worry, no harm done, I’ve been meanin’ to wash this cap,” he had a basketball cap on with the UK logo, now stained from the cheese grease, he had to take it off and shake it off discreetly, but God, you were charmed the second he opened his mouth.

And you would be lying if you said all of the focus was on the game after. You cheered, but found yourself glancing down to the row beneath, and you knew that if you left Rupp and made for your hotel, you would never see this man again.

 

When the match ended, you had stayed in the stands as they slowly filed out, and so had he, people awkwardly shuffling past in the small gap between your legs and the back of the seats of the following row. You were causing a slight obstruction, and so was he, but neither could care.

 

And he just wanted to talk to you, any reason would do.

 

Luckily, being the assertive type you were, you finger tapped on his left shoulder, and he turned so quickly that your finger still touched him as he stared up into your eyes, and suddenly it was difficult to sound intelligent again.

 

“Excuse me sir, I just wanted to apologise again for – for dropping cheese on you in the middle of the game, if you wouldn’t mind, I could buy you a drink to make up for it?” your eyes flickered to his hand in search for a wedding band and found none, that was reason enough. Yes it was risky, but every sense you had was screaming at you to not leave this arena alone, and the man, who you would later learn was Daniel, could barely find his voice to say “Yes,”.

 

But he did.

 

Together, you two made history.

 

Daniel Elliot Rhodes was as stereotypical southern as you could get, he learned how his father’s gun worked long before he learned his alphabet, he’d never been into the big city atmosphere much – and he’d certainly never left the state of Kentucky in his life. He lived in rural countryside, his grandfather owned a gun store, and he inherited the farm. It was 50 acres, and Danny had always called it modest as farms go, but it operated well, and the money was steady.

 

On one of his rare trips to the city, he was clad head to toe in basketball memorabilia, complete with a flat-cap and supportive team scarf for the University of Kentucky’s basketball team, on his way to a match. It was probably the highlight of his month, save for the weekends his grandad would amble over, close up shop and have some beers with him and rant about his work week. Danny always encouraged him to retire but he was sure Roy would be one of those old codgers that managed to outlive everybody and he’d sooner roll over dead then sit about “chewing his gums and getting bedsores all day,” – his words, not Danny’s. He and his own father, Rick, worked the land and his mother, Leanne, even in her age, was content to be a happy little homemaker. She made a burgoo to die for - lovely thick lamb stew which was probably the only way Danny ever willingly consumed vegetables in his life. They were a perfectly homely sort of family, some might call them uninspired and maybe even typically white trash if they felt like being cruel, but it was a relatively simple sort of life, and that was okay too.

 

He stopped going to school as soon as he was able and put all his time into the farm, he didn’t even complete high school, and that was okay by him. Danny was a sweet boy at the heart of it all, by no means thick and just a little sheltered from the sort of life he had. It was understandable really, he hadn’t even seen a black person until he went to school as a child, and he wasn’t particularly involved with the wider goings on of the world, but it didn’t make him a bad guy, just somebody with a lot of doors left to open.

 

All in all, he was the last guy you would go for, but here you were, in the Hyatt Regency Hotel’s bar, drinking with a man who none too long ago was a pissed off stranger. He never would have looked twice at a girl like you if someone had described you, and his granddad would probably have a few things to say because you weren’t porcelain white, but in this moment – he couldn’t care less. He was even too enamoured by you presence to pay mind to the fact he was in the Hyatt Regency Hotel, he’d never been in such a posh feeling sort of place, in fact, he wasn’t sure he’d ever stayed in a hotel in his life. Daniel didn’t even know that he was allowed to use their in-house dining facilities like the Bar & Grill restaurant if he wasn’t staying there, but here he was, drinking a glass of the fanciest wine he’d ever had, which was so expensive that they didn’t offer single glass shots of the stuff, it cost a hundred something bucks just to open it. But damn, your job paid nicely, but the guest speaking was something of a sizable bonus that, for someone who spent their student life on gas station groceries, you felt more than like you’d earned it to drop $155 bucks on a bottle of Moét et Chandon Imperial champagne.

 

Daniel’s eyes had never gone so wide than in that moment where you dropped that much money on a bottle of white wine, which he now felt obligated to help you finish. Somehow, his $20 UK Wildcats cheese-grease stained hat didn’t feel proportionate in value to what you were spending to apologise, but he couldn’t in good conscience let a lady pay that high a bill. He insisted on paying for both your meals at least, and he felt like a stupid hick whenever he opened his mouth, but when he looked at you, he saw you hanging on his every word, savouring the sweet lilt of his voice.

 

He felt even more stupid and self-conscious when he found out he was talking to an ambassador for the United States of America, and that you were here delivering a talk to International Studies students.

 

“God, I don’t even have my GED,” and he regretted saying it instantly, but instead you’d just lit up like every star in the night sky and told him that there was ‘always time’ – and never once did you make him feel stupid.

 

Daniel Rhodes knew then that he was in love, because he would have done anything to see you react like that again.

 

Absolutely  _anything._

 

* * *

 

You had put in a transfer so you could be closer to Daniel in the time that you got to know him, and took him to his first holiday out of the country, and he marvelled at you when you spoke other tongues. It was so cute, you didn’t know that it could really be this way, but to every person he met, he would brandish you with so much pride that he might burst from the seams, saying your name, and that you were his girlfriend. You later went on to help him get his GED, even with the persistent pile of work from your job, and the constant output of the farm – of which he now hired a lovely young man as a farmhand to help, it seemed like there was never enough time between you two, but it made every moment that much more precious.

 

He didn’t even register your wariness when you went to his grandfather Roy’s house and saw a Confederacy flag draped as decoration in the hall, and he had the nerve to ask “Are you from the country with the drug problem or the bomb problem or someplace else,” but with Daniel fighting your corner and Roy seeming mostly misguided by his ignorance as opposed to malicious, you could even stomach his granddad, which few people could – Daniel admitted, embarrassed by his behaviour.

 

Leanne had taught you some Kentucky recipes, your own specialization unfortunately, wasn’t the burgoo that she was famous for, that Daniel loved so much, but heavens, you were good at making sweet dessert bourbon balls. Often, work kept you away – busy, but every time you came back, it felt as though you’d never left, except Daniel would be brimming with lust and the perpetual sensation of missing you. On the day before your flight to South Korea, and oh, how he worried whenever you had anything to do with the Korean tensions even slightly, he proposed – as though it would make certain fate wouldn’t steal you away from him.

 

"Marry me, you amazing woman," and it was almost like a pleading demand, but it made your heart pulse almost painfully in your chest.

 

"Yes, a million times, _y_ _es!"_

 

And you’d accepted in a heartbeat.

  

* * *

 

You were to get married in the spring, before the bugs of summer but just as all the flowers bloomed and everything was coming into season. The wedding was a while away, but every time you got back from work or off of a plane, it seemed like Daniel was more and more stressed. You wondered if he regretted asking you, and he was terribly hard to read at the best of times. You’d opened his mind to a lot of things but he still had a firm idea of “what a man should be,” and it often resulted in him tackling problems and issues on his own, because he didn’t want you to worry.

 

“Danny, is something wrong?” you hadn’t so much slid out of your heels, and God, he loved the way you walked in them, but right now he couldn’t even savour the curvature of your body as you moved and the Lord knows he always had time for that.

 

“We talked about this, you need to let me in on what’s going on,” you sighed, somewhat impatiently.

 

Daniel ran a hand through his hair – as he often did when he was thinking, before letting out a frustrated noise. Leanne didn’t seem to be privy to it either, only he and Rick, Daniel’s father, who had taken to you much better than Granddad Roy, but still wasn’t in the habit of letting you in on anything.

 

On your worst days, you felt like an outsider, even after knowing them for two years.

 

“That Energy Tech rep’s been harassin’ and callin’ for weeks now,” said Daniel, finally.

 

You pursed your lips, you were no domestic lawyer on the state laws of Kentucky, but you knew federal, and you were much more knowledgeable on international – but it didn’t mean you didn’t have links to call upon. Oh, it just fucking boiled your blood seeing Daniel so stressed and feeling like he couldn’t do anything at all. This company which – through googling, you could only pull up one domain name, but it had no real information, and many of the links on it were dead. It was a fine veneer on what was ultimately a dead end, a site which one could just say wasn’t updated, but it meant you had nobody to call to complain to.

 

“I wonder if we can get an injunction on that, some sort of cease and desist I’m sure we can slap him with something or I can at least get a lawyer to write an angry letter, it’s just….nobody to write to! Not even a PO Box,” you fumed, closing the laptop.

 

“He left me a card with a mobile number on it, I haven’t called it cos I knew if I did I’d have a few choice words for the asshole and I knew you would probably tell me off I did,” he admitted.

 

You blinked before nodding seriously, and simply took the pro-offered card from him. It was blank, with intricate symbol work on the back that you couldn’t quite place, and it was laminated nicely, so glossy that it put their website to shame. The company name wasn’t actually on it though, just a name, emblazoned in fine white script.

_Bergstrum Rowle._

 

Then a string of digits.

 

“God, I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” Daniel sighed, watching you stay in your work clothes and stalk into the room of the house that had been converted to be your study, on the rare days at home.

 

“Just sit pretty,” you smirked, flipping some of your hair back to look back at him, feeling his stare on your hips.

 

“I’ll get the ball rolling, you can pick a movie and tell Leanne I’ll help her with the chilli as soon as I’m done and out of my heels, got it?”

 

Daniel saluted his temple, God how he loved watching you take charge.

 

“Yes Ma’am!”

 

When you didn’t come down, and had not, in fact, gotten changed – Leanne peeked her head of blonde in, wondering why you weren’t down helping her. She saw you pacing up and down your study, getting progressively more vexed.

 

“Sweetheart, your chilli’s gettin’ cold and Danny’s a-waitin’ for ya,” motherly concern on her face, for an in-law to-be, she wasn’t as nightmarish as you thought. In fact, she just seemed desperate to still have a place as matriarch and honestly, as long as work kept you busy, it was a tandem relationship that just _worked,_ with each of you picking up after the other.

 

You held up five fingers in a desperate gesture for more time, Leanne could only frown.

 

“No, you listen to _me,_ I want to speak to the man whose been harassing my fiancée, he’s in no uncertain terms, said he’s not selling up, what I want to know is why there’s a call log longer than my arm after the fact— _no I will not HOLD!”_

Leanne’s frown increased, she leaned up against the white door and folded her arms under her chest.

“I will get my lawyer to write – and put it in crystal clear terms if I have to, why, can you at least tell me _why?_ Are we sitting on oil or something?”

 

“Well no, it’s been in his family for generations, you’d have better luck asking a mountain to move, please don’t call around here again,”

 

The company did not give you an address, however, a lawyer by the name of Stacey McClain, recommended through some links you had, made a rather stern phone call, and all was silent.

 

Daniel was relieved, and he could finally focus on the wedding planning, namely inviting his aunt, uncle, cousins, his cousin’s cousins, people twice-removed and God knows who else. You on the other hand, were lucky to even get your brother to come. Your mother was bitterly disappointed you were marrying “some hick,” and your father had the habit of listening to the woman who controlled if he slept on the couch or not.

 

Leanne had inundated you with bridal magazines the second you had a waking moment of peace and for a moment, you were completely lost in it.

 

You were finally going to have your moment to be a princess, the person who never had a single friend outside of her teachers. The girl who didn’t date. The girl, who simply did not exist outside of her schoolwork, was now going to be centre stage, and would be getting married to a man who most considered far from perfect, but for you, Daniel was enough. More than enough. The length and breadth of happiness existed in his very being and you couldn’t have been more content.

 

Daniel taught you how to wield your first gun, even Granddad Roy warmed up to you when you proved to be a dead shot whose academic leanings gestured towards a slight interest in history, which went so far as war history, and guns. Sure you weren’t a collector, but war history had fallen in the purview of your studies, and even now – you were still learning. Roy had a collection of World War one and two guns, and it was lovely to watch him marvel over something and be filled with excitement over something that wasn’t sports or complaining about the president.

 

When Roy started getting excited about the wedding too, that’s how you knew it was actually really going to happen – honest to goodness – you were going to be Misses Rhodes, and you couldn’t wait.

 

The venue that was booked was a Catholic venue, on Roy’s insistence, you weren’t bothered either way, except you’d never been in a Catholic church and so you were floored by the look of it just from the outside and the beauty inside – maybe that crazy old bastard had a good idea once in a while, because Saint Rose was truly a thing to behold, and you’d never have known of it or picked it in a million years otherwise.

 

You were embarrassed that only your brother was bothering to come, your friend from New York couldn’t make it either, but a few colleagues from work would, but it amounted to a grand total of six people filling the pews on your side of the family. Luckily, Daniel was more than happy to fill up most of the church with the Rhodes clan, and it would all feel a little less empty.

 

The inside was gorgeous, with an impossibly high wall and beautiful white pillars that held up the church in a manner that reminded you of the most graceful of ancient Greek structures. There were stained glass windows that shone beams of sunlight in an array of colours into the pews and finely crafted statues of saints and the Virgin Mary to the far corners of the room. There were draperies and the pristine pearl-white of the church made it absolutely radient. It wasn’t short of decoration but it wasn’t gaudy, it struck the fine line and that’s what made Saint Rose so utterly perfect.

 

Roy had practically preened when you’d called him a ‘magnificent bastard’ for the choice, but none of it seemed that it wasn’t lessening Daniel’s stress, each day as the wedding dawned he just seemed more and more worried, even gaunt. Roy was worried, but on the day, he was still palpably happy, enough to dispel the idea that it might be second thoughts. It was probably all the planning, you reasoned, he never said anything else was amiss – well, until it was.

 

The day was set sooner than expected, your brother had an expression like he was sucking a lemon while enduring Granddad Roy, like he wanted nothing more than to leave, or alternatively, hit the man extremely hard.

 

Daniel finally looked like he had everything together, dressed immaculately in a suit with his long hair tied into a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck, he was clean shaven, but the stubble still showed in that way that you liked.  He hadn’t seen you since Leanne began helping you prepare, you hadn’t had a rehearsal, just meticulously planning. The priest was one of Roy’s friends, but of a much more kindly disposition. For the longest of time, you’d stressed over the dress, wanting it to be sexy but wanting it to be respectful was probably the hardest thing you’d ever done. You’d never had to dress for Catholic sensibilities before in your life, thank God you had Leanne to help, and Roy to give you away.

 

The dress ultimately picked, was a beautiful one. You couldn’t be happier with it. It was slim and sleeveless up to the shoulders, it came in at the waist and fanned out ever so slightly. The collar was high-necked, it wrapped around your throat, and it came up completely in lace in a floral pattern. The bust of it cupped your chest firmly, it might have been a little risky if not for the thin transparent lacing that came up from that and narrowed as it travelled up your diaphragm to your throat.

 The back was corseted, it wasn’t terribly revealing or overly clingy but it looked so terribly gorgeous on you as you walked. The veil seemed slightly dated almost, but it added to the mystery – and it was tradition, and in light of the venue, seemed appropriate. The dress itself bore no over excess of embroidery except around the hips, where the dress briefly drew in at the waist. Nothing too garish, but it flowed beautifully. Around your wrist was a simple blue ribbon, tiny faux bluebells made into a sort of corsage. In your ears, were Leanne’s pearl earrings, and then – Roy’s deceased wife, she’d owned some vintage jewellery, and you had a simple brooch on, pure silver, as pristine as the dress, in the shape of a rose, it matched perfectly.

 

Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.

 

Daniel could hardly breathe, and he couldn’t even see your face yet.

 

The vows seemed almost a blur, and the priest was the only one close enough to notice that Daniel’s fingers trembled as he lifted your veil, and he looked at you as though he was seeing you for the first time. The makeup was minimal but perfect, peach on the lips, a very dull bronze, eyeliner and lashes curled, no eyeshadow, just – simple.

 

The words “I do,” felt so small in your mouths, but the church was so quiet, it easily carried. The ring itself – you hadn’t even seen. It was a mix of silver and gold, both metals running in vertical strips, curled around in a hoop, with the smallest diamond embedded in the centre, pressed into the metal as opposed to glaring out at the world, pushed forth and held up like most rings. They matched too – your legs shook under the weight of all the stares around you, and a crucifix leaning heavily over the altar – watching you swear fealty to each other.

“I now pronounce you, man and w—“ you couldn’t wait for the priest to finish, and perhaps it was in poor taste, but you kissed him then and there in your excitement, a cheer was on the crowds lips, until a loud bang rung through church, and everything stopped.

 

_Bang._

 

Butterflies were still in your stomach and the light of the flash was in your eyes from the opportunistic photographer, but the room was deathly quiet, and a second bang echoed though the building.

 

_Bang._

The doors to the church quaked, and both you and Daniel turned around – it was Roy who reacted first when the doors swung open.

 

He pushed you with all of the force an 85 year old man could muster, being the closest to you. Several dark figures filled into the church faster than the family sitting in the pews could react. There was heavy artillery in hand, and it was milliseconds before they began to open fire.

 

Heavy grey boots clattered against the floor of Saint Rose, and you were stuck to the floor, frozen in horror and fear, eyes going impossibly wide.

 

Then you felt something on your back, a heavy sensation hurting you and making you let out a loud noise of pain.

 

“ _Ah!”_

Then it got heavier, and you grunted again.

 

“ _AH!”_

 

Your vision became skewed under this terrible weight – before something wet pooled around your dress, which forced you to open your eyes. You breathed heavily, panting and wheezing in pain against the floor.

 

All you heard, was echoes, bangs and screams, all in quick succession, with hardly any room for an intake of breathe.

 

A hand had draped over your head, fingers leering over your eyes so that you panicked, and wondered whose hand it was – but the sleeves were dark, and there was aged veins that protruded. Then the wet sensation spread across the floor, and you wondered if you had pissed yourself in your abject terror, but somehow – somehow it was so much worse than that.

It was a runny pile of maroon, red that just kept on stretching as far as your slanting vision could make out.

 

_‘Oh my God, is that blood?_

_It is blood._

_The priest.’_

The body of the priest was crushing you, but you couldn’t move, you could just see the men in the thick, black jackets, riddling the entirety of Saint Rose with bullets.

 

You started hyperventilating in your place, eyes impossibly wide, until you could see the boots getting close to the altar, and you forced yourself to stop breathing, feeling heat and wetness behind your eyes like you wanted to cry with every fibre of your being.

 

And then it all went silent, far…..far too silent.

 

Silence in the church that had been seconds from cheers, and the pews – the pews had ran red with Rhodes family blood.

 

God, just so much blood.

 

 

 

It was the shock that wouldn’t leave, you had to have stayed beneath Father Carmichael for what felt like decades. With shaking, trembling hands that went right up your arms, you slowly began to crawl forward, fingers reaching the steps of the altar, but not before sliding more in the blood that had permeated all through the building.

 

You crawled through it like a slug until the weight of Father Carmichael’s body was finally gone, but you couldn’t get up on your feet, not in the least because you were still shit-scared that the men would come back, it had been ages, you were sure.

 

Blue lights had shone through the opened church building, sirens, and then finally – men in police officer clothing. You wanted to throw up – and you did, across the floor, opposite the blood – but—

 

_Danny!_

“Danny!” your voice broke under the weight of your own panic, you saw his body behind Father Carmichael’s, and you crawled on all floors frantically, ignoring the calls of the paramedic and the officers.

 

“ _Oh my God, someone’s alive! The bride’s alive! Paramedics, get her to a bed, get her stable!”_

_“Reports are founded, mass shootout at Saint Rose church, we’re going to need more coroner’s and we’ll have to cordon off the area,”_

You reached Danny’s body, he was laying on his front, and quickly turned him over, only to find his eyes shut and a protruding hole in his head – his _head!_ Your hyperventilating increased, and you frantically began to shake him.

 

“Danny!”

 

_No response._

“Danny!”

 

You felt arms around you, and voices in both your left and right ear. Police, paramedics – people…people…

 

“Danny!”

 

You were choking now, the tears finally letting themselves out – he was dead, you were sure, he was dead, he’s dead and cold and oh—

 

“ _Danny!”_

The panic set in, and suddenly you couldn’t stop shaking and dry-heaving, just wretching on the spot but coming up empty until it felt like your bones might snap under the weight of the pressure of everything that had transpired, your heart wanted to beat out of your chest – you couldn’t breathe.

 

Dizziness. Blurriness – Danny’s warm, not waking up – tight chest.

 

Tight lungs.

 

_Can’t breathe._

_“_ Dan—“

 

Darkness.

 

* * *

 

 

Forty two dead, two in intensive care, one survivor.

 

You passed out, it was no surprise – and you were the talk of Kentucky – all of you. Rhodes family, all but wiped out in a single night, death at a wedding.

 

So much death.

 

The local paper called you the “Bloody Bride,” and you’d seen it before a detective could rip it out of your hands and apologise like a dog that had just received a hard kick to the chest. You woke up soon enough that you were still in your dress when it happened.

 

The only thing you’d said was, “Where’s Danny?”

 

A strange agent had looked at you, she was young, with her hair in a neat bun and kindly blue eyes, the kind of person who was green on the job. She looked confused, and sad, and a little frustrated with your inability to talk.

 

“Daniel Rhodes is in intensive care as we speak, a doctor will be here to inform you as soon as we can get him stable Misses Rhodes,”

 

You’d been married for barely a minute and a half.

 

But you were Misses Rhodes, apparently.

 

The news was both calming and terror inducing, you’d thought he was dead, it sparked some hope in your chest that he’d make it – and that was enough. Enough to talk to this government woman, but the whole thing…

.

The whole thing felt like an out of body experience, your mouth was moving before you could catch up with your mind, they offered you a hospital robe, but you refused.

 

A doctor – a head doctor, the psychiatric kind, she came in too – but you just responded blandly, and sadly, clearly focusing all of your thought on Danny to get you through. It was understandable – she said, a crutch.

 

“Just one last question, anything – anything at all about the men that you can remember and we’ll be contact you in a few days when you’ve had some time to…adjust,” the detective said, because really, what else could he say?

But something clicked, and the rookie government woman – she started scribbling furiously the second you had said it.

 

“There was a skull with lots of arms on their boots,” your voice in a flat, dull, monotone.

 

The girl held up her notebook, lined paper making out what you had said, like an artist’s depiction, but it was too good – like she had seen it herself. Detail for detail.  The look on your face must have spoken a thousand words, the girl’s face had darkened.

 

More people were saying things.

 

Worthless shit. You wanted Daniel.

 

But you heard the girl murmur something under her breathe that you knew you should not have heard, but you did.

 

_HYDRA._

“SHIELD will be in contact with you in the next few days, you will be protected and we will do our best to help you through this time,”

 

“Misses Rhodes I--…”

 

“I am just so sorry,”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Mourning Never Comes

_-x-_                                                          
  
  
   
   
There were nights where you spent, curled up in that bloody dress, against the wills of the nurses – on top of Danny’s bed. You could at least comfort yourself with heartbeat, and little else. They used the words “Persistent vegetative state,” – that there was brain damage, God, he shouldn’t have survived that bullet. He shouldn’t have, but he did, because he was Danny Rhodes – as tough as old boots.

  
   
He did start moving, but it was as if his tongue was lazy, he couldn’t say words even though he desperately wanted to, even the motion of chewing seemed too much for him, and his existence was that of constant agony, and it didn’t matter how many times he tried to tell anyone – it was like nobody was listening, or wanted to – even if they _could_ understand him.

   
You remembered when Dr Ross had told you, he was an old sort of doctor, but not terribly so. He was still rather spry and the age lines only really showed under his eyes, and in his forehead when he frowned, with a very thin streak of grey in what was curly brunet hair. You had remembered getting so angry that he’d told you that – like he was responsible for it somehow, and had made Danny that way. It was someone to blame in a moment, and you couldn’t justify why you’d done what you did next, but you had swung for the man in your grief, hitting him in the shoulder, as he was considerably taller than you – taller than most actually, at 6”1 in height.

   
Still, he had let out a noise of pain on impact and stumbled a little, and he would have called security if you hadn’t realized the gravity of your own actions and regretted it almost immediately after, apologizing between grief belaboured breaths until you were sure you were hyperventilating, the colour was draining out of your features. The doctor was trying to get you to calm down, making you breathe into something until your heart didn’t feel like it was going to shred itself into pieces while it was still inside of you.  
   
You looked up at him as he held an oxygen mask over you, tears blurring the sight of Dr Ross until he was nothing but a kaleidoscope of colour. You pulled out of it and both of your hands were shaking as you reached up and gently placed them on his wrists. You hoped whatever expression you were pulling beseeched your regret.  
 

Dr Ross looked down at you, and found himself unable to say the right thing, which – considering how long he’d worked in the medical field, was unusual. He was used to delivering all sorts of terrible news, kids who were not even a third into the average human lifespan destined to be cut short by some sort of horrible illness, debilitating pain that they can’t fix, only assuage, people who came in one way and left another – _forever,_ he was used to it, even if it didn’t get any easier….  
But there was something about this, never in his life did he ever think something like this would happen in his state, his _home._ It was the kind of thing on the news but not in Kentucky, it was hard enough to adjust to the trend of school-shootings, and the very real briefing that he got that it could be something to prepare for in the future. But this? How does anyone prepare for this?

 

This, a terror attack, in Kentucky of all places? They weren’t New York, or Manhattan, or anywhere he would even think terrorists would target. It was so random and unjustified in its cruelty. It wasn’t a horrible accident, like a car-crash, and it wasn’t preordained doom, like an illness that had just been hiding and getting bigger and bigger unnoticed until it was too late. It was random, targeted, cruel and horrifying and that’s why Dr Ross was at a loss of what to say. He felt himself getting clung to by a woman frozen in time, who couldn’t even pull herself out of her trauma long enough to will herself out of the blood covered wedding dress that reflected the horror of the massacre she witnessed. He heard her when she finally talked even slightly about it, the only reason she was alive was because she’d been pushed to the ground and essentially played dead beneath two bodies, one being her husband of whom she’d been married to for hardly a precious minute.  
 

“Can I see him?” your voice was small, and pathetic.  
 

He looked down, and he saw your face looking up at him, chin slightly pressing into his stomach through his white coat, and tears in your eyes, hair falling out of the veil and half into your eye, making it shut a little in pain and force the salty water to leak from your left eye while the other looked up at him hollowly.  
 

“The specialists will be here soon,” was all he could say, and instantly, Dr Ross regretted his bedside manner, because whatever he was supposed to say – it probably wasn’t that. He flinched when you pushed your face against him, and let out a muffled noise. It was to stifle the long sound of anguish, but to his credit, he hadn’t the heart to push you off of him and leave you in your bed, he just stood there awkwardly until his pager went off, signalling that he was needed elsewhere, and you let go.  
 

 

‘ _She’s severely traumatised, if she doesn’t snap out of this soon long enough to cooperate, she may be sectioned for her own safety,’_ and the thought didn’t sit well with Dr Ross, not one bit.  
 

Eventually, you got to see Danny, and the relief that washed over you was so fleeting that you wondered briefly if God had intended to be cruel by granting you that for even a moment, because the pain you’d been in earlier emotionally was hardly a hair on what you were witnessing yourself in your husband.  
  
   
It was horrible just seeing him lying there, attached to so many drips, unable to respond to you. He could recognise you, at least, but he could barely be understand himself when he heard how the words came out. It was infuriating, but you could just look at the frustration and figure out his frustration.  
 

‘ _It hurts,’_  
 

‘ _I hab to piss in a funking bag’_  
 

He needed constant care, and he was so infuriated at being robbed of his agency, but being so utterly helpless, but it looked like if his condition was stabilizing, he might be able to go home, just with a lot of new things installed to make day to day bareable, and a team of nurses, and religiously regular hospital trips – and –  
 

“There’s a blood clot that’s been growing in his brain as a consequence of the bullet wound that we didn’t initially detect, I’m so sorry Misses Rhodes---“  
  


You were so sick of people saying sorry after the fact - it wasn’t fucking fair. The nurses and doctors hadn’t even an inkling that they had missed anything (how? You had to wonder) – until Danny began actively having a stroke in his bed as a result of how bad the clotting had become. It took you screaming the hospital down for people to come, but by then, it was just _happening._  
 

The days seemed endless, but time became a strange concept when your days and nights no longer revolved around the sun and the moon but every moment Danny was awake, and when he wasn’t. Considering he was absolutely plied with morphine, it was rare, and sometimes, you could even swear his breathing was belaboured with pain. If he made it through this, he’d need so much physical and mental therapy and thousands in medical bills that you didn’t know that even with your job, if you could cover such a thing, but you’d have happily sold everything you had just to have Danny be Danny again.  
 

You’d have done absolutely anything, even consign yourself to the devil himself, but with everything that had happened, the stroke had been the worst part of it – on top of all of it, it robbed him of who he was, who he used to be.  
 

Danny almost never cried either, but you could feel him in the night, just crying and not able to move his body while he did. His ever so expressive eyes were just filled to their brim with pain and agony, all he wanted to do was hold you, but he couldn’t, no matter how much he screamed inside and willed his body to move. He had never felt so ashamed when the clearest thing he could say after his stroke was something he wished he didn’t have to ask you, but he had to.  
 

He loved you like you were his whole world and for his pain to surpass that, it had to be too much to bare and knowing that he would never _get better_ on top of the pain, and bills, and everything that he spent hours in the dead of night, silently contemplating, it would be the only way to free you. You were still in your bloody dress, frozen in time. Frozen forever in your one moment of horror that Danny desperately did not want for you.  
 

“That’s not fair,” you said, fuming – in a heated whisper.  
 

Danny’s grey eyes shined up at you from his bed, he managed a very weak smile, and nothing else. His eyes then slowly moved to the far right, where a machine that steadily controlled the level of morphine in his system was.  
 

“No, _no, fuck you!”_ you snapped.  
 

You left his room for your own and parted from Danny’s bed for the first time since your arrival. You had returned in the small hours, sticking to his side and pushing your face against his side, breathing heavily. Danny was asleep, and you were still mad at him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stay away more than you had. You weren’t crazy, you knew that this wasn’t the healthiest reaction, and you overheard talk about having you sectioned, maybe even discreetly put into psych, but the idea of separating you from Danny in the wake of the media circus that was following you – when they transferred out of Ephraim McDowell hospital, it was hard enough just to get you to let go enough for the move. You however, had been so consumed with your husband that you had barely even registered that you had not only become the centre of your rural area but the whole of Kentucky had been captured by the events of Saint Rose.  
  
  


\-----

  
  
Unbeknownst to you, your face was plastered on every newspaper in the United States, trending all over twitter, forever keeping an image of you frozen in anguish. From Facebook, to obscure wordpress blogs, an image that a paparazzi had managed to snap of you through the transfer to the larger university hospital had absolutely shattered the state of Kentucky. You were all America seemed to be talking about when they glanced at their smartphones and saw a news headline, in between celebrity gossip and the next blockbuster was your own face, superseding any horror that anybody could imagine.  
 

Nick Fury had a complicated job ahead of him, staring back at him from his computer screen, was the very same image of you, Kentucky’s “Bloody Bride”.

   
Steve Rogers was staring at the same thing, it was hard to not discuss what had happened, mostly because it threw the entirety of SHIELD for a loop, including Fury, and it was very rarely that anything had threw him for a loop. On a holographic print of the digital newspaper Tony was reading, he kept it thrown up for everyone else’s benefit, projecting out of his phone. They could stare right through your photo to each other, but it was to not just look _at you._  

   
Frozen in time, with a forlorn look on your face, frozen anguish, veil at your back, colour utterly drained from your face and blood in heavy pools around what was once a beautiful wedding dress. Unshed tears, and a face struggling so hard to convey the mix of shock, anguish and abject terror experienced all in a fleeting moment that it remained blank, though somehow the pixels conveyed the present pain. Devastation kept immaculately in place, the crushed spirit, shrunk down to a 6x4 photo. The photographer must be so proud. You stood there with doctors and police clearing the way as you were loaded into the back of an ambulance with Danny, who was mercifully mostly covered by a sheet in the shot. It had been right after the event, one of two photos, the other from your transfer to the larger facility, in the same dress, but veil over face, but somehow standing morosely, Kentucky’s very own Carrie White.

   
“Fury said he found an umbrella company under HYDRA, they were in contact with the Rhodes before they died, and that we should chase her up if she has any leads, or uh, a desk jockey from SHIELD is going to. Still can’t figure out why HYDRA would gun down a wedding in Kentucky, I mean, what the hell’s in Kentucky?” said Tony Stark, a little blasé about the whole thing.  
 

“Can you take that down please? It’s unseemly that they’d even put that online,” said Steve after a moment, clearly disturbed by the image, and Bruce felt much the same, but was less vocal about it – just nodding in the background. Tony rolled his eyes and closed the hologram, idly tapping away on his phone as he spread across the living room couch in the Avenger Tower.  
 

“World of today Cap, everyone has a camera and nobody has any shame,” Tony quipped.  
 

“It’s so unusual that it has gone high profile, I guess that’s why Fury is trying to put together an assignment on this,” said Bruce, brow furrowing deep in thought, even Natasha was at a loss, it just seemed so random and cruel, and yes, cruelty was in HYDRA’s purview but certainly not randomness. They did nothing ‘randomly’ – everything was expertly planned with them, and it just did not fit with their method of operation at all.  
 

Nothing was really said about it, other than talking in circles and speculating, they’d know nothing until Fury got word of what HYDRA was playing at, but that report back never came.  
 

Because The Bloody Bride had disappeared.  
  
  


\--------  
  
  
   
It had been done in the quietness of the night, and he asked you the same unforgivable thing again, and this time – God – you knew you were going to be sectioned, you weren’t going to see him again anyway if they had their way, and those strange SHIELD people would come. It was all falling apart. All of it.  
 

“ _Pleash,”_ was what Danny had managed to say, watching you turn up a dial that controlled the level of morphine he was given. Your hands shook, and you slowly, slowly began to turn it, heart pounding and feeling heavier in your chest as you upped the dose. You wondered – if there was something after this life, if Danny would be angry if there was, if he’d change his mind after, if he’d wish for more time.  
 

If he could hate you from heaven, if he’d regret what he asked of you. Somehow, you thought you would be crying, but you couldn’t feel your face, which it made it that much harder to move your lips, rasping out in the quiet, sleeping ward.  
 

“I’m doing this because I love you,” you croaked out, hearing your voice crack under the strain of being quiet and the tremendous urge to break into several pieces right there on the spot.  
 

When the dial wouldn’t go up any further, you strode quietly to the bed, and leered over the bed, placing your lips around Daniel’s for what would be the very last time. You were slow to pull away, it would be the last time you’d feel the warmth of kissing the man that you loved more than life itself, but he managed to breathe out a reply, even as his heart rapidly began pumping the morphine through his veins and he could feel himself melting through the bed, like he might fall through the floor into bliss, free of the sensations of pain or discomfort or the goddamn drips.  
 

“ _I know….thank you, “_  
 

And then the ward was quiet, save for small snores and laboured breathing, it was like that moment when the men in boots left, and you had been too frightened to move, trapped under bodies.

 

You shuddered, and then the sound of a flatline rang through the room, which snapped you out of it, you took a last look at Danny, and then turned around and left, _fast._  
 

 

The command to run took over your frozen mind which was still reeling over what you’d done, your body welcomed the command and the rush of urgency and adrenaline, taking you through the fire escape to exist as fast as you possibly could. The paparazzi were far and thin, save for some reporters who’d fallen asleep outside, you ignored the sounds of them waking up, and ran to the parking lot. You held up your dress in your hands so you wouldn’t trip and bolted as much as the stained silvery heels would allow, finding a motorcycle of all things.  
 

 

You had to get out.  
 

You came in the ambulance, you didn’t have the pickup or anything, or your own car, and you had no idea how to even take a car by force, punch out a window? Then what? Can you even hotwire modern cars anymore? Your panicked thoughts went blissfully blank at the sight of the bike, you rolled the dress up your wedding stockings as it was quite long – not wanting it to get caught in the bike, and mounted the thing.  
 

 

That said, you had only ever ridden a scooter. You nervously kicked the – what was that? The thing that kept the bike upright? It wasn’t even chained up or anything, and the hospital – would they call the police?  
 

_Run._

   
You were able to keep your weight in place, and let out a sigh of relief, before fiddling with starting it and finally – hearing the engine. In a mixture of terror, panic and anguish, you started up the motorcycle and charged out into the street, leaving dust and confusion in your wake.  
  


 

You could still hear your heart over the sound of the loud engine, hoping that you wouldn’t get pulled over, attracting stares from cars you passed by, though there were few at night, you kept off the main roads after that, and just kept driving, hoping you had enough gas to just…..just to leave.  
   
In any other situation this might have felt freeing, liberating even, but it felt like you were just speeding to get away from an invisible enemy, any moment expecting to hear a siren in your ears and blue flashing lights across the dark, narrower roads.  
   
But none came, and the wind whipped your face with such harshness that your tears were flicked off of your fast into the air behind you, robbing your cheeks of traces of tear tracks. It was a roll of the dice that you didn’t crash with every turn you had to take, but in that moment, you wouldn’t have cared, you even briefly contemplated driving at full speed directly into the nearest wall or tree you could find.  
   
Anything had to be better than this pain.

   
A green sign lit up, and white lettering assaulted your eyes.

   
_Cincinnati, 50M._

   
God, how long had you been driving?  
   
You stopped at the sign, and really did fall off the bike this time in your inexperience, letting out a small cry of pain as you lay crumpled in the grass at the side of the road, not too far from the sign. Your entire body ached, but you didn’t care about that – your chest hurt too much. It was like the songs and the poems said that you always thought was cheesy, dramatic hyperbole, but it wasn’t. It really felt like your heart had broken, like it was squeezed tightly in a vice until it could no longer take the weight of all that had transpired and finally splattered into an explosion of blood that filled your chest.  
   
You screamed, you screamed until it felt like your bones were vibrating from the loudness, your own ears rang and you wondered how you didn’t bring down the sky itself. You screamed until your throat shattered, and you crawled back onto the bike, and just….  
   
Just kept driving, and you didn’t stop until you were at your offices, leaving the hospital in your dust.

  
  
\---------

  
   
It was the night that changed everything forever, when the anguish and guilt should have killed you, it didn’t. You expected to cry for days, years even, but you hadn’t.  
   
You were just so terribly angry.  
   
Not even a momentary anger, it was not temporary or fleeting, it did not rise and fall, it did not come in bursts. It persisted and kept burning inside you, it did not go out, it only got hotter and angrier. You _were_ rage, pure and simple, a shell of yourself maintained solely by anger.  
   
It was, in fact, a psychotic break – losing all concept of time like that, in Granddad Roy’s survivalist bunker. Three people knew about it, and they helped build it. Roy was one of those men who thought the president would throw the USA into nuclear war in his lifetime and to be prepared at all times. He was also the kind of man to sit and go on a forty-five minute rant about big government at the drop of a hat.  You couldn’t go back to the farm, it had been swarming with reporters, there had been nothing in Cincinnati except that you were able to get into your offices and retrieve your laptop. People had tried to talk to you – security, late workers, you ignored them. Some even called the police, seeing you in your bloody dress, like in the papers – clearly having some sort of meltdown, but didn’t matter. You were gone long before they arrived.  
  
   
The rage had swallowed your mourning, and it would not subside for the world.  
  
   
The next few days had been a blur, there was enough tinned food and dried meat to last a year, but you weren’t in there nearly as long, just long enough for the manhunt to be called off. You were starting to smell, you didn’t care. You hadn’t taken care of yourself in a while, you didn’t care.  
  
Your only trips to the surface were just outside of the iron doors that kept the bunker secured. It had exactly one outlet, in the case it wasn’t a nuclear end, but it still blocked out all signal somehow, so you had to struggle to get the thing to work. There was a nearby property that belonged to a horse breeder exclusively, they had internet – it was perfect really, you could have probably died in there or at least, munched through Roy’s supplies, but you didn’t.  
   
You were in the perfect place to plan.  
  
So you did.  
  
The next steps were the more complicated ones, the actual process of accessing unindexed information was easy, it was finding the  _right_ thing that was hard. You were in an incredibly unique position in that you hadn't been caught yet, and a state-wide manhunt hadn't been ordered until you were well into motion.  There was a warrant for your arrest and your picture was everywhere all over Kentucky, what you'd done had reached the news which was already clinging to your name as the only survivor. What you didn't know was that there were sizeable pockets of sympathy towards the act of mercy killing, but you didn't bring yourself to check online, that's not why you were in a secure zone, planning.  
  
  
You had to access the accounts, the reserves of information your job had given you access to, it wasn't much nefarious just the current stages of various countries with regards their foreign relations. The Middle East was always a mess, and they'd occasionally be what was called "Cold Reports" from Russia, and random terror groups threatening to jeopardize tenacious peace links made. The United Nations database had everything recorded and everything, how much access you had to it depended on how high up the chain you were.  
  
It was worth a shot though.  
  
Searches for HYDRA pulled up nothing, you couldn't say you were surprised, it hadn't taken long to figure out the energy company harassing Daniel for control of the farm was a fake front. It wasn't much of a leap to link it to the events of Saint Rose, Danny didn't otherwise have enemies that had this kind of pull.  
  
The question was, what in the hell did they want with a farm in the middle of buttfucknowhere-Kentucky, and what was HYDRA? Why did it use a front? Why did it shoot up your wedding?  
  
There was too many missing pieces, and you couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, Danny might have been in more trouble that you thought.  
  
"What did you  _do?"_ you murmured, frowning.  
  
None of it made sense, but it didn't need to  - you just needed to make them suffer, the way you had. The way Danny had, and you didn't care how nonsensical it was. Granddad Roy had stocked for a war, and you fully intended on using everything left in the bunker to your disposal.  
  
Unfortunately, it wasn't an easy as that.  
  
The unindexed side of the internet was your next turn, logging on wasn't hard. It operated through something called TOR - The Onion Router, there were other ways, but you weren't aware of them. This was how you were taught at work when accessing information that was struggling to get out from heavily censored countries and strictly policed digital networks. The VPN was a basic step, that part wasn't hard. It was designed to cover you tracks, complete anonymity from your government, or someone else's, and trying to peel those away to pinpoint your identity was like peeling an onion, layer for layer - long and practically impossible. Even your work issue laptop ran on TAILs - The Amnesiac Incognito Live System, an operating system that ran from a USB stick that assured complete privacy.  
  
The rest was your standard gambit of marijuana and narcotic drug sellers, gun and illegal military grade weaponary services, fake FBI honeypots advertising hitmen - what you needed was a way to search through this mess of the deepweb. A majority of it was catering the specific and sick sexual fetishes of individuals, or forums attempting to discuss edgy subject matter, or websites that looked like they were taken right from the 90s and the era of Netscape and AOL.  
  
You scowled, and began the long, arduous search, for anything with regards to HYDRA, and this time, really were dismayed when nothing immediately came up.  
  
Except mentions.  
  
Mentions in poorly protected U.N files under other terror organisation names, mainly operating in Eastern European countries, taking advantage of the post-communist era, but the files themselves contained nothing useful, just casualty numbers, linked back to the USA for taking them out.  
  
"What...?" you frowned again. For a while, it was nothing but that, and you were like a dog with a bone, you wouldn't stop, at least, not until you found a search engine designed to sift through inactive "useless" government files that hadn't seen use since at most, the 90s, open-secrets, if you will. This made you feel a little better about the sort of public information that was out there after very little digging.  
  
That's where HYDRA came up a little more.  
  
You frowned at the sight of German, unable to understand it and ran it through a translator, but it was still a hot mess, there was a mention of a National Socialist German Workers Party and--  
  


Wait, National Socialist German Workers Party?  
  


"Nazis?" now you felt something tighten in your gut, what the hell had Danny gotten involved in, what in God's name?  
  


But the rest came up empty, and unfortunately, you did not know German. There was a brief mention of a name - Rodgers, S. and an illegal insurgency that you remembered from history books – public information at this point, where Captain America....those ridiculous old-timey propaganda videos you had to sit through in history class. These were old, irrelevant files about largely known history, but HYDRA was mentioned in the garbles of German. Why? That hadn’t been in any textbooks growing up.  
  
  
What the hell did this have to do with your wedding?  
  
  
Irrelevant. Next.  
  
  
More relevant, dated files.  
  
  
Goddammnit wh--  
  
  
" _Doktor Bergstrum Rowle"_  
  
  
__Bergstrum Rowle. Bergstrum Rowle. Bergstrum Rowle. Bergstrum Rowle. Bergstrum Rowle. Bergstrum Rowle.__  
  
The laminated card. The white digits. The number - the number you couldn't fucking remember, but Stacy - Stacy McClain called it, Bergstrum Rowle.....  
  
The name was in a long paragraph of German, listed under the names of reformist scientists that thrived under Nazi leadership of Germany for the vaccinations of young Aryan boys and girls. Irrelevant. Bergstrum Rowle was involved with HYDRA.  HYDRA had contact with with Danny before the wedding.   
  
Danny had started hiding things from you to cope with the harassment by HYDRA masquerading as an energy company, this was where the missing piece was.   
  
Between just before you had Stacy McClain call Bergstrum Rowle, up until the massacre at Saint Rose Church, something had happened between Bergstrum and Danny and that had been the missing piece to the overall puzzle.  
  
You really were a dog with a bone in their mouth, and the name Bergstrum Rowle may as well have had a crosshair over it.  
  
Because you absolutely were going to kill him, or the guilt would take you long before anything else did.  
   
_‘Kill Bergstrum Rowle. Kill Bergstrum Rowle. Kill Bergstrum Rowle. Kill Bergstrum Rowle. Kill Bergstrum Rowle. Kill Bergstrum Rowle. Kill Bergstrum Rowle. Kill Bergstrum Rowle. Kill Bergstrum Rowle. Kill Bergstrum Rowle. Kill Bergstrum Rowle. Kill Bergstrum Rowle. Kill Bergstrum Rowle.’_  
  
  
He killed Danny long before you had, you needed answers, and more importantly, revenge. Revenge was the only thing you could salvage from this.  
   
Nothing else would do.  
  
  
**_‘KILL BERGSTRUM ROWLE.’_**

  
  
_\-----  
_

__  
  
“I don’t get it, how does somebody just _disappear?”_ stressed Wanda, better known as the Scarlet Witch. Apparently, things had just gotten stranger, as if HYDRA randomly targeting a rural wedding in nowhere-Kentucky wasn't strange enough. Vision had privately agreed with Steve in finding the whole media circus distasteful.  
 

“Most of the SHIELD personnel were helping the police keep the press out, apparently she left through the fire escape according to the CCTV on the scene, shortly after her husband flatlined, pretty suspect stuff,” said Tony, with amazing bluntness. Steve’s brows drew into a small frown, but he didn’t say anything, if Bucky was around, he might have called him out on it, but the two didn’t stay in the same room and Bucky mostly manoeuvred it so he absolutely wouldn’t run into Stark’s path. He even stayed on a different floor of the building, the truth of what he did as Winter Soldier to Tony’s parents was not something he could stomach, in fact, Tony didn’t even want him in the building, but it was the fact he was likely a bigger threat out of their sight and Fury’s insistence that he was even there.

   
Still, nobody called out Tony, and Steve just wasn’t in the mood to fight about it.

   
“Flatlined means…..death?” this was Thor, he seemed a little more gentle about it, and he was an insufferable brute sometimes, but he could detect the discomfort from Steve, Wanda and even Vision in what was a rare bout of awareness. Vision was less connected than most, but he was rather thrown for a loop by the lack of logic behind what HYDRA had done, and was more focused on waiting for whatever information Fury would gather, and if he’d share it.

   
“Yes, he was being supported by machines – it- “Tony considered explaining the intricacies of life support to Thor, but took one look at the Asgardian and remembered how he nearly blew up the microwave, and didn’t bother.    “-it makes a noise and a bumpy line that comes up on a screen that’s attached to the person goes straight when a heartbeat stops, so it’s called flatlining,”

   
“Oh,” understanding dawning in Thor’s eyes, he didn’t expect to be needed in Midguard so soon, but the unrest was palpable, even from Asgard, that and – he had been in town for his mortal, Jane Foster, and it would have been remiss of him not to visit his friends after making the effort to quite literally cross worlds. After the unrest caused by the return of Bucky Barnes, it was a sort of welcome to have Thor there as a distraction and even a referee in separating them in a more assertive manner than Vision, with less ‘accidents’ than Wanda’s attempts to do so, and Natasha flat out just wouldn’t get involved, watching with Bruce Banner.  
 

“So does that mean she gave him mercy?” said Thor, his booming baritone attempting to be gentle about the topic.  
 

‘Giving him mercy’ – that’s a nice way to put it. Thor could understand it perhaps better than most, he knew plenty of warriors who would sooner die then be infirm for the rest of their lives, especially if in constant agony, though he had enough sense not to voice this, as Midguardians didn’t always align with their morality and way of doing things. Jane had taught him that much.  
 

“It’s strongly implied but the cameras of the hospitals don’t go into the room, just the corridors, unless it’s a psych ward,” said Tony with a half-shrug, looking up at the ceiling from the couch.  
 

“I know we have a lot less agents since the HYDRA purge and everything, but I can’t believe she just _left,”_ said Wanda after a moment.  
 

“Wouldn’t you?” shot back Steve, finally. “-She just had entire wedding gunned down, had to cope with her husband like that, on what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. I don’t think anyone expected that in rural Kentucky, and now the whole of America is staring at her covered in blood because she’s…..she’s….. ‘trending’ ?”  he looked to Tony for confirmation he was using the word correctly, who nodded and gave him a lazy thumb up.

   
Wanda held her hands up in defence “I know it’s just – well, maybe if she knew she wasn’t in trouble? Instead of a state-wide manhunt that’ll make her feel like a criminal?”  
 

“And how you suppose we do that?” asked Vision, silently approving of the idea – and typically, it was Tony with the idea before anybody else could even really think.  
 

“Press release,”

 

 

 -----  
 

 

The Appalachian mountain base for HYDRA was a rather small and admittedly under-utilized operation for the longest of time, it was certainly the last place anybody would expect a US HYDRA base to operate. Close enough to the grid but far enough not to be asked questions, it was perfect in how plain-sight it was.  
 

Bergstrum could see how the determined young woman had managed to find him. He had to admire her tenacity after all that occurred. Tenacity and resourcefulness, how one person managed to cause so much artful chaos. His guards had gotten lazy in their years of being undisturbed, a mistake paid for with their lives, that and masterful execution.

   
This wasn’t some sloppy killer.

   
This was an organized one-woman wave of violence, who had been artful in her terror. Oh, of course, beyond the barbed fencing and the electrical gates, she hadn’t gotten very far into the building, she didn’t need to. She had found shafts that ventilated the main building and the barracks for the guarding personnel and crammed several canisters of deadly gas, managed to deploy one of his own HYDRA agents emergency grenades, and prior to breaking in, had taken out the two that patrolled the gate, all in her wedding dressed and covered in enough guns to make him wonder how she’d managed to get up the trail and even get to him in one piece, before he realized that she must have camped out with her veritable armoury on her back,  thriving on her hatred.  
 

He was rather glad he’d caught her alive, even if she’d killed thirty one of his boys and put a few in wounded or critical condition. She herself was riddled with bullets, one in her left kneecap through her wedding stockings, one in her shoulder and one in her stomach. The amount of ballistic fire she’d sustained would have been enough to put anyone out, but he had instructed her capture alive when she had been limping through the research department, still clutching a rifle and actually tried to shoot her way through the electronic keypads. It was an easy matter to inject her with one of the many drugs they had on hand, which knocked her out and significantly slowed her heartrate, which impacted overall blood flow and dramatically reduced the speed of her bleeding out.  
 

The lay on a long, metal table, several belts keeping her in place after she had her wounds dressed and bullets surgically removed, she hadn’t been paralyzed for the whole procedure, and HYDRA didn’t care to anaesthetize her, in fact, the first thing she said, upon waking up, was his name.  
 

 _“Bergstrum Rowle,”_  
 

He chuckled, before pulling a face when he entered the room – he could smell you before he could see you, which lent to the obvious psychotic break you’d had, and however long you’d been rotting in that dress of yours.  
 

“ _I’m going to kill Bergstrum Rowle,”_ she hissed through her teeth like a venomous snake that had been defanged and left flailing pathetically as though it were still deadly.  
 

Did she realize how lucky she was to be alive at this point? The man was easily in his late seventies, reaching 5”9 in height, with many lines to his face. His hair was dirty-blond with strips of grey, and his eyes were a cold, dispassionate dark brown – almost black. He moved unhindered, as though in the prime of his health with all of the youth of somebody in their twenties, and had a naturally kind sort of smile.  
 

But it was the sort of smile you’d see on the kinds of people that put razorblades in toffee-apples at Halloween, and it didn’t take much to see through it either. He was a wholly unsettling sort of man from old Germany, a living relic of HYDRA’s past.  
 

“I don’t think you realize how lucky you are to be alive,” his German accent still as potent as the day he left the country, her head turning to face him as she spluttered in anger. He reached a wrinkled hand to her and squeezed her jaw shut, preventing her from spitting at him, as she surely would.  
 

‘ _Mixed mongrels tend to act like animals at an easy drop of a hat,’_ he thought idly, which was a shame because, the untouched online presence from her days working for the US under the U.N had made her seem so much more put together, even her TED talks made her seem so much more attractive than she was right then. Oh, yes. He’d done his research after deciding to capture her alive. Indeed, he’d wrestled with the thought of just killing her, but it would have just… _such a waste of a woman._ An artisan of violence, just a hideous _waste_ when he was rapidly running out of men to put in Research Containment One, Two and Four – and now she’d killed a good portion of his next potential testers. Killing her would be a waste, he’d decided – and that was the only reason she was still breathing.  
 

He leaned over the table much the way he would lean into his microscope, giving her an inspecting look, even with his maintained disgust at her smell of blood, sweat and dirt.  
 

“You made a terrible mistake in coming here Misses Rhodes,”  
  


And when he caught SHIELD's nationally broadcast press conference over tea that evening, he couldn't help but laugh - and laugh hard.  
  


It would be two years before she ever saw the light of day again.


	3. For the Greater Good

   
The art of submission was something that Bergstrum was rather a master of. He couldn’t take all of the credit, of course, the Asian countries at the peak of war had come up with many of the techniques adopted later by HYDRA. Indeed, while he was a racist Nazi who believed in genetic superiority, he did take pause to learn from what he viewed as the lesser races.  
   
The Chinese were particularly adept at it, and as a result, over time, HYDRA had come to adapt methods developed by them at the height of warfare.  
   
His lips curved into a smirk – he had the perfect role. All he had to do was watch the Containment cameras from the central control rooms, and see his lower kommandants specialise for each tester. Herr Wolfgang and Subject 1 were a rousing success, Herr Stromm and Subject 2 were originally an unmitigated disaster, but the technician was proving to be able to salvage the best of a bad situation – so Subject 2 was still alive, and finally – Herr Viktor’s own pet project, in Containment 4 had passed away in permanent comatose – having been pushed beyond his means, the Subject died, so Bergstrum was extremely hesitant in letting Herr Viktor loose on the Bloody Bride in Containment 3.  
   
He monitored constantly, and it worked out rather perfectly. Herr Stromm would play the bad cop, and then he would come in, and play good cop - or "slightly less worse cop," as the case may be. Herr Stomm was a stout sort of man, with a thick bushy moustache and a bizarrely vacant set of hazel eyes, and a strong, square jaw - the kind of body that in youth had been primed for warfare and had sagged and sloped, succumbing to age and becoming soft where there was once muscle, and so forth.  
  
Rhodes was put in was a mechanical sort of chair device, she would be kept under a sickly set of radiation-green strobe lights that flickered with a hypnotic rhythm and interrupted any steady flow of REM sleep. The light flickers would periodically change in pattern with high frequency binaural beats - both controlled by Bergstrum remotely, Then Herr Stromm would enter, and the re-education program would begin its second phase.  
  
He had quite the time strangling out the fierce levels of rebellion that she had exhibited in the first few months of her stay, many broke long before that and the ones who didn't would choose to end it themselves if they had lesser constitution, but Misses Rhodes was hardy as she was hateful, stubborn and broken already.  
  
And oh, how Herr Stromm quite indeed loved it. Misses Rhodes or - The Dowager, as was her HYDRA birthed training agent name, had the kind of stubborn attitude and unrelenting anger that was so strong she'd sooner break her own tooth and spit it square at her enemy if it had the faintest sliver of chance of hurting them, even if it lined her own lips with blood in the process. Herr Stromm could appreciate that level of hatred, it was beautiful and uniquely poisonous in its own way.  
  
Her pain tolerance was high, and Stromm enjoyed testing it - life in Containment 3 was not a pretty one. Food seemed to be a bunch of vitamins, proteins and everything good taken from superfoods and melted down into a tasteless, vaguely disgusting amorphous blob which looked like it belonged better between layers of concrete and holding up a roof more than on the end of a fork - but it was breakfast, lunch and dinner. If you were good, and progressed, you got those meals, if you weren't, you did not. It was as simple as that.  
  
 Stromm had utterly broken the girl, and when out of ideas, consulted Bergstrum, who was more than happy to enable the rather odious man. Bathroom breaks were referred to as  _taking a walk,_ which was better than no bathroom breaks at all, which, Stromm was not above denying.  Out of Herr Viktor, Wolfgang, and Rowle, Stromm was easily the worst. The sort of man who, as a boy, trapped butterflies to his walls with needles while they were alive, plucked the wings off of flies, burned ant-hills and always took playground bullying too far. Where boys would pull the pigtails of girls, Stromm was the sort to cut them off, and then grin - even when being sharply rebuked for his actions. Rowle couldn't say he liked the man much, they got on well enough at work, but he never willingly engaged with him. Wolfgang was much the calmer scientist, instead losing himself in the idea of the perfect human, enamouring himself with the physiological superiority of metahumans, he might have even been the most human of them all, if he wasn't above throwing an entire city under his boot in the name of scientific progress.  
  
The kind of evil that Wolfgang was guilty of, was anything in the name of the 'Greater Good' - HYDRAs greater good, of course - so much so that he had it tattooed onto his arm -  f _ür das größere Wohl,_ in gothic script.  
  
  
For the Greater Good.  
  
Dowager had seen him a handful of times, ever - but he'd always been the closest one to human. So she didn't mind Wolfgang, sometimes, she even found herself jealous of whichever project had been assigned him as their master.  
  
The process of the bathroom break with Stromm was grim, being led to a small room just off the side of Containment 3 which was simply a bathroom which had walls that were far too closed in and no room to breathe, just a small ventilation shaft no bigger than a rat.  Stromm would deny basic privacy, he'd even just stare, tapping his foot impatiently.  
  
Containment 3 itself was rather intimidating in its vastness. It was a large, dome chromium room with a mechanical chair melded to the flooring in dead centre. The sickly lighting was awful too, and then every hour to half hour, the mechanical chair would change position, stretching the girl in a new, uncomfortable way.  Everything right down to the design of the chamber was maddeningly shapeless. She hated it.  
  
Bergstrum had only removed her clothes, and neatly packed the wedding dress away.  
  
"I know it is important to women, yes?" he took it as a way of trying to cement his role as the favourable one. The actions weren't utterly lost on her, he noticed how her facial expression would change to a marginally more hopeful one when he entered.  
  
To think, there was a time she had wanted him dead.  
  
Now she knew better, even if she noticeably cringed away from his mouth when he kissed her on the cheek. Today had been a particularly unforgiving.   
  
It was time for her shots.  
  
  
\----  
  
  
Your lungs had been filled with water, and it was a wonder you hadn't suffered some sort of brain damage as a result, if not imminent death. It had been a strenuous session with Herr Stromm, pouring water up your nostrils, mouth and ears. Honestly, you had thought you were drowning, your whole body thought so. It had screamed in pain, you could hardly endure the sensation. Your face was still wet from it all, and Bergstrum was wiping your brow dutifully, clucking in the back of his throat disapprovingly at the fact you'd also been left naked. You'd long since abandoned shame. That had been part of training.   
  
  
Shame. Embarrassment. Wants - all gone. They left you with only the things they needed - the ability to foster and glean happiness from just the smallest of actions, to encourage obedience, and then anger, needs, sorrow and sadness.  
  
  
The things that had uniquely fuelled you and had led you to hunt them down in the first place were the batteries that kept a shattered soul still running.  
  
  
Hatred kept the soul running, all HYDRA needed and wanted to do, was direct it. You didn't even wince anymore when Bergstrum withdrew a long syringe, filled with a strange blue substance that almost glowed, he called it the T2-9400, but you just called it The Blue.  
  
  
You had a love-hate relationship with The Blue that was almost as turbulent as the relationship with Bergstrum. On one hand, you hated how it made your bones feel like they were getting too big for your body, how your nails grew and Bergstrum had to cut them, or how your skin stretched to accommodate the uncomfortable thing it was doing to your insides, like it was trying to accommodate something that was never supposed to be there in the first place. Your head would pound like your brain just wanted to ooze out of your ears, but every bruise, ache and broken bone would start to recover. It had to be some sort of breakthrough in medical science, such a shame that HYDRA were the one to discover it. Then again, it would probably never reach the outside world, the T2-9400 had killed or negatively impacted two out of every three batches of BETA testers it had and the ones who reached ALPHA stages were usually weaker for it. So it was unlikely it would ever leave the facility.  
  
  
However, when it  _did_ work, it worked great. You didn't know what else it was supposed to do yet, and Bergstrum never had an adequate answer, just that when you'd successfully complete the program, you would progress, and find out more, and no longer need The Blue.  
  
  
That came around the first year mark of your imprisonment in HYDRA, and it had felt like decades before you'd thought about Danny. They didn't take the memory, they didn't even alter it, they just took the ones pertaining to your hunt for Bergstrum, and funnelled the rage to their goals. You never did find out what you had come to find out, every day was taken one at a time. The passage of time was marked by the entry of either Herr Stromm or Bergstrum, and often, most days were centred on survival.   
  
  
You had successfully completed The T2-9400 Program, and Bergstrum had brought a small stereo into the maddeningly empty, dome-shaped room. The radio antennae were kept down - no radio, no outside yet. Not ready - but soon, Bergstrum promised.   
  
  
But today you celebrate. He gave you a bar of the flavourless protein in what was actually a snack, as you'd had your servings of those as meals. So this was a rarity. He watched as you devoured it, being fed it and kept bound on the chromium chair mechanism device that was your bed and body preserver that occasionally morphed and forcibly flexed you to keep you taut.  
  
  
"Today you get some songs," he smiled genially at you as your eyes lit up, the most you could hope for was comforting yourself with the sound of rainfall against the high, barely-visible dome ceiling. You knew better than to assume you had a choice, but nodded fervently as he put it on and turned the dial up on the volume so it filled the vast emptiness.  
  
"Would you like a haircut Fraulein?" he reached for your hair with his aged, withered hand, it was no longer the immaculate flatness it had been on your wedding day nor filled with brambles from when you'd hunted them down in the Appalachian mountains. The hair was long, black and yes, it fell straight but was fluffy and full of body, falling past shoulders and more down your back than it ever had before, almost at your hips, but not quite.  
  
  
You shook your head negatively so much that a few hairs fell in front of your face and he chuckled. You weren't sure why you wanted to keep it so long. It just felt important for some reason that you couldn't quite recall, but he didn't press, and in fact, Bergstrum even made a mental note to tell Stromm that it was the one part of you that was off limits - and Stromm would listen, if he knew what was good for him.  
  
And so he did.  
  
  
"I get a song?" you couldn't keep the excitement out of your voice over something so small, and Bergstrum gave you a toothy grin in response.  
  
  
"An entire CD," it was to Bergstrum's tastes, but you couldn't say it was a bad pick, not your first option - you couldn't fully recall what you liked before all of this. It was an album, called "It Might as Well Be Swing," - a 1960s piece but you could recognise it as a timeless classic, the stereo had a random selection, but eventually it would go through every song, repeating rarely.  
  
  
He even turned off the green sickly light, and you had an okay sleep for once. He was being kinder than usual, he even clothed you and turned off the switching mechanism on the chair so it would keep you in on position to sleep for the night, and Frank Sinatra's smooth voice bounced all through Containment 3.  
  
' _Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars....'_  
  
Eyes drooped, you yawned, and took the break, not knowing the world of hurt awaiting in the morning.  
  
' _Let me see what spring is like on - Jupiter and Mars....'_  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
Some of the other Containment projects had been unmitigated disasters, but Herr Wolfgang was rather smug, being able to recover his, and everyone was antsy, for it would be the start of them all meeting each other. It was now part of the super training program for the successful T2-9400 testers, and a room had been cleared for it.   
  
You should have known that last night had been too good to last. They had put you in a tight but thick leather costume that had padded knees and joints. Honestly you weren't sure what the silver parts were, they behaved like metal but moved like leather and took a corset-like form around your chest and where the padding was around the joints. The rest was kept smooth black, with tall boots that stopped short of the knees and flat without a heel.  
  
Today, and every day after, you would fight.  
  
You laid eyes on a man who had to have no percentage of body-fat, completely lithe, all joints but broad shouldered and athletic looking in the way his slim muscles from a deep red and black suit not too dissimilar from your own but lacking any feminine corset-like definitions or liquid-metal vibes. It seemed designed utterly for motion and bending, the man himself had to be late twenties, sparkling blue eyes, high cheekbones and platinum blond short hair that fell messily past his ears. He might have been handsome if he wasn't completely dead behind the eyes.  
  
This was the man you came to know as Lazarus, and he had a long rod attached to his back, which was black and made of a strong metal you weren't sure of. You came to be intimately familiar with it - as it extended into a scythe-like type of thing, and the man was unforgivably brutal with it.   
  
You wheezed as it had hit you in the gut, twenty minutes into the sparring match, not just a strike, but into you - and you had almost dropped if it wasn't holding you up like a skewer. A horrified noise dripped out of your throat, blood starting to drip around your midsection.   
  
The trauma was so overwhelming that you wondered how you hadn't simply died on the spot, shaking intensely at the massive pain, it was nothing like being riddled with bullets, because the thing was still in you and you could feel it churning in your stomach when Lazarus wiggled it with a playful grin.  
  
"Scythe regalia," you looked up at him in wild disbelief -  _he isn't serio--_  
  
Then it extended, while it had pierced your gut, and you wondered how you hadn't been utterly split in half. He retracted it and then pulled the rod from your abdomen, sending you sprawling to the floor as you clutched yourself and momentarily blacked out from the pain.  
  
A tiny cry left your throat, too small for such large pain. It was the kind of pain that traumatised people for their whole lives, and yet you could feel an uncomfortable tingle of your stomach sewing itself up. You curled up in the dark training room, which was a concrete square, and whimpered, hand covered in maroon as you looked up at Lazarus, his red boot coming into view first. You had gotten a few knocks in, but even Lazarus's blood was acidic, only his own body could withstand it.   
  
" _Get away from me,"_ you mumbled through blood, your lip swollen from a punch.  
  
"Come on princess, I was told you were the scrappy one," he had a thick Eastern European accent, and you just cringed as he neared, pushing yourself into the corner and spreading the pool of blood up with you into an upward smear on the ground.  
  
" _Get away...."_  
  
Lazarus's cold blue eyes looked down at you, brandishing a scythe-like curved blade at both ends of the long rod, twirling it playfully creating an area of imminent death that could probably cleanly swipe off a head if something came into its radius.  
  
" _No more, I can't,"_  
  
"Get up will you? I'm getting bored over here, might have to make things more interesting," he stopped twirling the weapon and began to close the gap between you, and instinctively you raised a hand up to protect your face and gesture to stay away. Your body, aching from the trauma and reacting to Lazarus's advancements in abject panic, along with adrenaline with a tightness in your chest and then the sensation of all your veins raising up against your skin.  
  
  
" _FUCK OFF!"_ the scream left you before you could control it, and Lazarus's eyes went wide in an excited and startled surprise, as he felt the wind getting knocked out of him, like a God had come down and swiped his open palm against his bony body, sending him flying across the training room with a tremendous speed, hurtling into the farthest wall with a speed that would crush any normal person of a lesser constitution.   
  
You felt winded too, hand shaking as you curled up in pain.  
  
Bergstrum was smiling behind reinforced glass, watching - The Blue had truly worked as it was supposed to, for once.  
  
  
Yes, it was perfect. You were perfect - and it was time to augment you so that you would best fit your mission and be fit for purpose.   
  
Agent Lazarus, real name Mihael, became the whetstone which kept you sharp, he was cruel and no less brutal than the day you met. Each match was peppered with insults, and Lazarus, while lacking your energy, could get up and recover far faster, having an even earlier version of The Blue, and his body taking to it much better - his regenerative ability was, in a word, insane.  
  
He also, and this was before The Blue - could not, for the life of him, feel pain at all. Perhaps that's why he laughed at you when you were injured.  
  
You don't know what The Blue had done to you, but it had changed you - and when you had asked Bergstrum, he finally explained.  
  
  
"The T2-9400 is designed to awaken the maximum capacity of your abilities and failing to find anything extraordinary, it will make room by force within your body to make you extraordinary," he smiled at you "-that is what happened to you against Agent Lazarus. That is what we will be training with your body, so you can be deployed,"  
  
"Kill the Scarlet Witch," you repeated mindlessly, recalling your re-education, making the man smile and nod, pleased.  
  
"Good girl," he praised "-you will be deployed in a joint operation with Agents Lazarus and Trogos,"   
  
You didn't know who Trogos was, and the look reflected that - he merely let out an unnerving laugh.  
  
"I've said too much, come, it is time for you to have your wash,"  
  
You looked away when he washed you, and reminded yourself what Herr Stromm had said - no shame, no embarrassment, no weakness. The process was mechanical and unpleasant, he would say something to the effect of  _'assume the position'_ which meant strip down and place both hands against the wall of the Shower Room, and they'd blast with either searing hot or searing cold water which was not unlike the process scientists had to undergo after leaving facilities that had severely biohazardous materials. Still, it was this, or a much more personal wash by Stromm or Rowle, though it seemed Rowle knew when not to give Stromm too much reign - because he always took that job, or maybe he just particularly liked it and detested the idea of someone else doing it to you.  
  
You did your best not to think about it. Stromm was talking now, telling you that you were to meet the other agent and to engage in combat training with him also. He was in the habit of calling it "Work," - actually, all of them did it, except for Rowle. The idea was that every agent, even the ones in Containment, were employees of HYDRA.  
  
You weren't really sure why Rowle insisted on calling Containment "Home," - even with all the brainwashing in the world, it wasn't quite home, just a place to lay ones head, but you never thought about the implications of why he did that around you. There was too much to process every single day to bother spending time spoiling over all the subtler things - like the augmentation of this freakish skill, that felt like you were moving limitless, invisible appendages to your will, or feeling the total weight-mass of object you weren't touching or sometimes even looking at, and then being able to effect them. You'd heard all sorts of words being thrown around - physiokinesthetic manipulation, parapsychological aeronautics, but really, only the word telekinesis seemed to fit. Use of it was only allowed in the training room, and a steady stream of specifically engineered drugs were applied to keep you docile and to not allow your power to grow too big for its boots in the presence of the scientists. Plus, it was like working a muscle, the more you used it, the stronger it got and the more you could manage, but it was taxing to the body and mind, and very exhausting, and by now, the idea of protest and rebellion had been largely blanked from your mind.  
  
Rowle was all you had in the whole world, after all.   
  
You belonged to HYDRA, you worked for HYDRA, and there was no retirement from them. In fact, the personnel that worked at the base were regularly told that they were HYDRA  _until they died,_ and the nebulous idea of spiritual freedom was attainable if they worked hard enough for them. Legacy - that was the notion promoted the most. The work they did here in this small Appalachian base would effect the world long after them, like an architect's final work standing tall long after the craftsman's death.  
  
You were taught something similar.   
  
Work and you will reach a zen unattainable even from years and years of brainwashing. A self-attained zen, the only agency you will have when you work for HYDRA, because they own the rest of you, and always will. Until you die - and with the injection of The Blue, you weren't even sure if you could.  
  
But yet, you could still feel pain, and that's all HYDRA needs to break a person.  
  
Still, it was hard to swallow the feeling of dread when he had frogmarched you to meet the person you would be deployed with. Could anything really be worse than Lazarus? Your eyes settled on a large pair of boots that seemed reinforced, right up to trousers which had to made into a type of armour just to cover the thick figure you were trying to take in.   
  
Immediately you were uncomfortable when your eyes travelled up his half-metal plated chest. At first, you thought it was a robot, an automaton, but then there was the oddly unsettling fact that the metal seemed to stretch over to human skin - not synthetic, like damaged human skin had been meld with the metal to cover bones and muscles.   
  
And he was big, like, probably 8ft and The Blue - along with your diet, had not only taken a lot of excess body fat but allowed for muscle to build, and forced a lot of things to grow - which they probably had for  Trogos too - because it was hard to imagine someone naturally so large. Width wise he took up the entire archway of the door to the training facility. He was broad-shouldered and when you saw his face, it was a firm, square-set jaw with a faint bit of brown stubble. His eyes were a wholesome shade of grey, well the one you could see. His right eye couldn't have been robotic, but the left side of his face had a large rectangular intrusion of metal, and that eye was replaced by a red scope. His hair was longer than Lazarus's, a dark chestnut brown and past his ears, but not much more than that.   
  
Uncanny Valley - that was the feeling you were getting, until he realised why you were so on edge, and gave you a tired, but genial smile that somehow made his entire face go from hair-raising to comforting. It was strange on someone who was built like a house - you were sure your hand would look so small next to his bicep. Even moreso, when he caught sight of Stromm being the one to march you there, he gave the man a gruff nod and spoke in a thick, Russian accent.  
  
"I will process her abilities, thank you,"   
  
Stromm nodded, and left you in Trogos's company, a name which - you had learned, originally, meant  _God-Eater,_ and it had made you shudder, for what did one have to do to earn such an ominous name?  
  
More surprising then, when the cyborg took your hand, and shook it delicately, knowing he could crush it like a grape and dwarfed it's size, encapsulating it completely.  
  
"My name is Artur,"  Hmm. Artur. Not Arthur. Definitely Russian - or maybe a similar origin to Lazarus, you weren't sure, but you had more than you could stomach of the bony misanthrope, and were pleasantly surprised when Artur was world's apart from him.  
  
Training was nonetheless brutal.  
  
And that's how it was, for months and months. Trogos vs you, Lazarus vs you,  Trogos and you vs Lazarus, and you verses the both of them. If not for The Blue, you would have died within the first week, and God. Many times, you wished you had.  
  
  
\----  
  
It was then that you learned each had their own mission operations, but the God-Eater had the most mystique. Lazarus – or Mihael, as you preferred to call him, just to get on his nerves, was extremely forthcoming with his story. Dishonourable discharge from the Lithuanian military, simply born with an inability to understand or register pain of any sort. It wasn’t a superpower so much as just a medical oddity that happened to someone every now and then, but it warped with his ability to empathise with people growing up, and it was very quickly made apparent to you by Artur that Mihael suffered from something called Cotard’s Delusion. He thoroughly believed that he, and other meta-humans existed beyond death, and were therefore undead. Life, he believed, was punctuated by pain, and while he could choose to suffer, he would never understand true pain, and so he never felt a relationship meaningful or with a true bottomless depth because he could not truly empathise. They were shallow and pathetic in their impermanence. A misanthrope to the end, HYDRA didn’t have to do much to recruit him at all, he was the star pupil – the rousing success of Containment 1.  
  
Artur by far had the nicest Warden - having been reassigned to Herr Wolfgang now that Stromm and Bergstrum were sharing you, and Wolfgang had better experience with the robotics keeping Artur together. Herr Viktor was not the most careful of men, and was often clumsy in his cruelty, and was assigned to Lazarus/Mihael after managing to screw up with Artur so badly.  
  
So now it meant Artur got more free time, and he was rather familiar with Stromm's methods, and how he tended to go so much further then the others. That's why he took to you so much, why he wanted you to be okay, it was baffling to you - since he hadn't voiced these motives, but you took the gentlemanly care. It was a welcome change from Lazarus.  
  
Artur had taken you out, for the first time in - God - how long? Years. It was just a small stream of water, close to the perimeter line of the barbed fencing, but you had washed yourself in the sun and cup the freeflow in your hands, even just seeing the mountain tops had awakened a deep joy and forgotten love for the outside.  
  
But the flash of guilt, surprise and horror on Artur's face was the last thing you saw before a sharp pain hit you in the left side of your neck, and everything just went pitch black.  
  
  
\--------  
  
  
The punishment for that millisecond of freedom was almost not worth the transgression, but God. Freedom was worth everything. It had to be.  
  
Tears were spiking in your eyes and pain reverberated through your right arm. It was bloody, and unlike every other wound, you'd even been cut damn near in two by a double-edged scythe. But this? God, what was this? This unique pain and suffering?   
  
You looked through your lashes, vision blurred in tears of agony up at Stromm, who held a sharp, searing hot sort of tool, of a metal you couldn't identify at all. He had dipped it in something hot, and then the cool, strange maroon liquid that smelled of copper, sulphur and something you could not place.  
  
"You are wondering why it does not heal? Like all of the others?" he tilted his head to the left with a mocking expression. "Why it burns under your skin, your veins - why it does not sew over? Why you persist to bleed?"  
  
He leaned in with a dark sort of smile.   
  
 "Because I have willed it so. See, my will -  _matters, what I want,_  I can make reality. I can hurt you, I can hurt the God-Eater, I can even hurt the man who feels no pain," he licked his upper lip and gave you the same, mocking sort of grin.    "-and yet, in your dull little mind, you thought it wise to step out of bounds?"  
  
You shuddered, and said nothing.  
  
"A lesson must be learned today. Escaping does not make you  _free, work does,_ and you are HYDRA until you die, and my girl," he moved a free hand to your cheek.   
  
"You're going to live for a long, long time,"  
  
You cried.  
  
You cried until Stromm left and Bergstrum was the one to wipe your face and nose of tears and snot. You wondered if he ever felt bad, truly bad - for you. Sometimes, you could believe so, but other times, he'd be the one hurting you, and the reality that you had nobody sank in the hardest at these moments. Artur was the only close one you had, and he stayed....too far away to count....   
  
 _So alone...._  
  
\-----  
  
Deployment day was here, you, Trogos and Lazarus were to be deployed as the Anti-Avenger team, to pick the Avengers off one by one, each with purpose.   
  
HYDRA had deployed several high-powered explosives in the structural foundations of Lyoft Enterprises - a technology company that employed almost as many as the Stark corporation. They were certainly not rivals, but more-so business partners.   
  
Lyoft Enterprises was responsible for the manufacture of various Stark-friendly operating systems with various kinds of interfaces for people of various work and skillset purposes. Some of which, when installed on a piece of Stark technology, could almost completely reformat the capabilities and purpose of it. They, besides that, also managed things like localisation of Stark technologies and shell-case manufacture, in short, Lyoft somehow managed to do quite a lot, and was also majority owned by Tony in terms of shares, but was a start-up originally by a student that benefited under the education programs that Tony had helped create and fund.   
  
They housed a whopping 25,000 employees in their central building within visible distance of Stark-now-Avenger Tower (as most things tended to be), for context, it would be about half of the entire population of America's former World Trade Centre, working at any one time.  
  
HYDRA had manufactured a disaster, after taking notes from the enemy, only, nobody knew whose nametag was on this one, just that the building was rapidly destabilising and people were already getting hurt. Falling debris has already hurt a few civilians, a child crawled under a car to avoid some, the rest simply ran so much that women in work shirts were leaving their heels on the pavement and screaming barefoot down the streets.  
  
Cars had started to swerve to avoid it, causing crashes and more civilians fleeing pavement when they careened into streetlights and shop store fronts.   
  
The Avengers were quick to mobilise, being first responders as emergency services was pouring in, trying to contain this massive building collapse, which was buckling on it's very knees, following four deafening explosions at the base.   
  
The chaos was jarring from the meticulous order that the HYDRA base kept, and you could not help but gape, until you saw a flash of red - and felt your mind going utterly blank at the sight, except for one thing.  
  
  
 _Kill the Scarlet Witch._  
  
  
You could see her hands moving - the way the video footage of HYDRA showed, the red light that made her fingers so hard to look at. You grinned wildly as you caught her trying to hold up debris and trying to stop portions of the building from falling as it currently was buckling still. You saw how the debris fell anyway and she struggled to hold it in place. You could see Stark mobilising in the Iron Man suit, even the Hulk was attempting to use his gargantuan size to try to rescue people.  
  
Her attempts died when you raised your arm and flung her carelessly into the side of a parked van with such force that it dented. She had never seen you from behind.  
  
  
You saw the confusion mingled with pain and offered her a blank stare, the words "What?" on the tip of her tongue until she moved her own hand, to fling debris at you, and swallowed thickly when you made a motion as though to dust your shoulder and the object careened out of her power's grip and shattered itself into many smithereens that it was hardly a pile of ash on the ground.  
  
"Kill the Scarlet Witch," it fell out of your mouth in a monotone that made Wanda forcibly register the danger she was in - her head was ringing from the fact she'd been hurtled and she was shaking on her knees a little, stetching her neck and quickly reganing her composure, until an earsplitting scream over many others sounded - from under the van you'd thrown the Avenger into.  
  
You blinked, and she half- turned, barely taking her eye off you - which you'd have done, onto to see the van had been picked up in its entirety by Trogos, in all of his eight foot glory.  A man that large was unsettling, he was naturally the size of Bruce Banner in his Hulk form almost and chucked the great hulk of metal so much so that it sailed through the air into Iron Man's direction. He had missed it very narrowly - calculatedly narrowly, but still, Trogos hadn't missed much.  
  
The exposed child had set both you and he for a loop, how long had it been since either of you had seen a kid? Then the fact the building was outright falling, no longer suspended by any of Wanda's power, led you to stare over her shoulder.  
  
  
You saw him put his arms over his head and you suddenly felt your own split - like it wanted to cave open, and the sight of black boots on the ground - a memory with frayed edges.   
  
The rest confused both you, Trogos, and Lazarus, who was focusing all of his attention on Vision. Both your hands stuck out and the ground was taken from under you. You saw the Scarlet Witch staring at you but you didn't care, all that had happened transpired within moments of each other, the Avengers and the Anti-Avengers moving quickly, but the building was still falling.  
  
There was a sickly sensation like you were being squeezed through a thin tube when you pushed your arms over your head and locked eyes with people who were falling against their windows, shattering the glass, then tumbling out of the building onto the ground and cars bellow. You could just see that it might crush Trogos, you'd survive, but Trogos didn't regenerate - the civilians were not a primary thought, but they were a secondary one. Trogos was too close to the immdiate fallout range and while you and Lazarus would survive, he wouldn't. It was a snap decision to not concentrate on the mission objective, but not one you would regret.  
  
 _Artur...! Not safe!_  
  
A few people had to have died, but it was like someone had simply hit stop on a stopwatch.   
  
Trogos had turned from Iron Man and looked at the child, each large boot either side of his body so all eight feet of him covered him like the van had, one arm over his head. Lazarus was the only one fighting, and his angry voice had screamed up at you - but you were too high.  
  
 **"AGENT DOWAGER, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOUR ORDERS ARE TO KILL THE SCARLET WITCH!"**  
  
 _'Kill the...Scarlet...Witch...'_  
  
The Avengers had stopped, because everything had paused like in a freeze frame - people who were mid-air from falling from the shattered windows were hanging in place, screaming their sweet lungs out. Glass shards had frozen in the same suspension, right down to the tiniest droplet-sized ones that rained like hale.  
  
Trogos had put his thick, muscled arm over his head and a thin yet incredibly strong transparent shield had raised itself as an umbrella from as much of the building as he could shield, but you knew he wasn't ruined by HYDRA. He was still nice. He was a good man who did bad things,  but he wouldn't move from the child unless a remote control of his operating system made him. You knew that the second you saw him take a position over the child and ignore the Iron Man soon after hurtling the entire van at him.  
  
  
Needless to say, it confused all of the Avengers. Only Lazarus was still fighting, and Hawkeye was riddling him with arrows which did nothing to slow him, merely spread drops of blood that burned a hole in his HYDRA issue costume and showed flashes of his pasty flesh. If his blood dripped on the ground, it would burn a hole like acid made from the heat of the earth's core. Vision could not hope to half-materialise and hurt such a man, and Lazarus jumped as high as the Hulk could, he was infuriating. He came back like an elastic band, occupying several Avengers at once from his longevity alone.  
  
  
"Who the hell are these guys?" it was Hawkeye who said this, but everyone had stopped and looked up. Lazarus was paying them little mind, because he was screaming up at you. You, who stood in your skin-form HYDRA outfit, hefty mass of hair suspended in the air just like everyone else had.  
  
It was mind blowing - like somebody had hit pause on Manhatten, and you were single-handedly maintaining a building that was half the size of Stark Tower.   
  
  
 _" **AGENT DOWAGER, YOUR COMMAND IS TO KILL THE SCARLET WITCH, WHAT'RE YOU DOING? LET IT CRUSH THE ROACHES,"**_  
  
  
Trogos was the first to realise why she'd done it when he saw how much he was in the impact range, he looked down at the child and snarled at them to scramble to their feet and leave.  
  
Lazarus's statement reached you when he jumped and landed on a heavy slab of metal that was part of the building you were holding up, apparently not caring about the tremendous height. You had never used your power this much before, it felt like it wanted to split your body asunder in four different ways.  
  
 **"NO IT'S ARTUR, HE'S TOO CLOSE, I CAN'T HOLD THIS BACK FOREVER,"** some life had wormed into your monotone, voice cracking at trying to reach as far as it could down to Lazarus. Iron Man was pulling people from your suspension and landing them to the ground in doves away from the impact zones.  
  
" **HE CAN BE REBUILT YOU STUPID GIRL, LET IT FALL, RETURN TO TASK,"**  
  
You turned your head to reveal your skin mopped with sweat, rolling down in rain-like beads from the crown of your scalp, like you'd run cross-country.   
  
It was all so heavy....  
  
 **"RHODES, LET IT GO--"**  
  
You could feel your eyes rolling back in your head, like the pressure was too much, crushing you into a vice until your bones turned to ash.  
  
 _" **RHODES,"**_  
  
You saw the boy hiding under the van when your eyes shut, and a voice you hadn't heard in years, like a guardian angel.  
  
' _We need to set something aside for the kids, they might want to be like their high-fallutin' momma and go to college'_  
  
The abject terror in his dark eyes...  
  
' _You'd make a good momma. You're a good person,'_  
  
It all went black, and you fell from the sky like a falling star, and eventually, slowly, the building came down with you too.  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for the overwhelming response, so much happens that this could have reached 10,000 words but I would never hit publish if I did that so I'm sorry if this falls short of expectation in some way.  This took so long cos I accidentally lost the first draft of this.  
> Next chapter is more Avenger focused, including the ones not mentioned in this battle explicitly. :)  
> R&R


	4. God Save the Girl

Trogos stood and watched as she fell like a star from the sky, the rippling waves that contorted everything to the eye when caught in the air of her telekinetic ability still held itself up for a considerable time after the Dowager had fallen. If nothing else, it was a testament to her power as the Avengers quickly evacuated the masses with emergency services. Spiderman even providing webbing for people closest to windows who weren’t suspended to willingly jump out and land into safely.  
  
Trogos didn’t stop watching until he saw that Iron Man had caught the Dowager.  
  
It had to be this way.  
  
He knew she was not ready for the outside world yet, that the HYDRA training didn’t go so deep as others who had much longer than two years in the facility, he knew it was dangerous, but he’d done it anyway. Trogos had lied in his write-up reports, many of them in fact, to convince the Wardens for their early deployment. When SHIELD lost many of the HYDRA agents that had infiltrated it and undergone a company-wide purge, it provided the perfect storm, the catalyst to target the Avengers in their weakness.  
  
He had to get the Dowager out of the facility, she wasn’t like Lazarus yet. She was just broken in so many ways, but there was still good in her. He could see it in her smile when he took her to the stream and how she still had the power to light up in the way that she did, and how she always asked of his health, and curiously about his cybernetics out of concern for his safety. Now he had to look out for hers – he remembered how she looked, tears in eyes and clutching her arm after Stromm had branded her for the small transgression.  
  
Then everything that happened after.  
  
The day that Herr Stromm had gone so far, and Bergstrum Rowle had come down to his Containment with fury in his eyes, telling him to come with him, and that you were inconsolable. Usually, he would not care, and would just administer a drug. But something was different about this, and he remembered his sense of dread when he was taken to her room.  
  
Between he and Rowle, they’d found out what had happened, and he saw Rowle stalk into the darkness, leaving Trogos there to console her, because she was calling for him. Her only friend in the whole wide world. He remembered how she ‘ugly-cried’ – tears down face, snot down to her lip, eyes so sore that they could match the redness of a sunset sky.  
  
He almost cried too, but he didn’t, he had the strength about him to hold it in and do so in private. Out of all of the tortures and indescribable pains they’d put her through, Trogos could count on one hand how many times he saw her shed tears, but none were ever like this.  
  
The next day, she acted like nothing had happened, like she had blanked it from memory, and in truth, maybe that was better. Neither saw Herr Stromm ever again, but it made him more focused than ever to push forward deployment day, before they pushed her beyond the brink of return, he was already scared they’d gotten that far, and crushed the one bit of good in her. He was proven otherwise when he saw her holding up Lyoft Enterprises, and that had been enough to know he’d done the right thing.  
  
He’d done the right thing in plotting her escape from the HYDRA base, even though she wasn’t made even slightly aware of Trogos’s plan. None of them were. It was safer this way.  
   
When Iron Man caught her, he let out a sigh of relief, and turned to Lazarus with a booming authoritative voice.  
   
“There is too many of them and we’re an agent down, we must evac,” he turned coldly from the scene, ignoring Lazarus’s ifs, ands or buts.  
   
“She’s a big girl, she’ll be fine, come!” he snapped, and began clearing a path for their exit as the building finally began to shatter the fading telekinetic hold that held it up, and crumbled out to the evacuated city bellow, destroying cars, roads, shops and livelihoods.  
   
But no more lives.  
   
\-----  
  
  
You were warm all over, and in something soft, but with cold bindings around your wrists and legs. The comfort was alien to you, it had been so long since you felt something so soft. Blinking slowly, you looked around the unfamiliar room. It was wide and rectangular, and had a strange sort of wall erected that you could see through.  At first you thought you were back at base in a new Containment, but it was too comfortable for that, and warm.  
  
You were on what seemed to be a medical stretcher mixed with imprisonment gear, and found yourself face to face with a live feed camera that fed to Nick Fury's office.   
  
You called out for Artur - you remembered how close he was to the impact zone, and were met with no reply.  
  
So you called out for Rowle instead.  
  
Nothing.  
  
Strangely, you didn't feel fear, very few things could evoke that in you anymore. You remembered supporting Lyoft Enterprises, and then nothing - pain - and a voice - then nothing.  
  
"Misses Rhodes, you are in SHIELD's holding facility, I would ask that you refrain from any exertion of your abilities or we'll have to put you into stasis, which isn't practical for anybody," it was a harsh voice, and it seemed to come from all corners of the room.   
  
"Is Artur okay?" you blurted out, but the voice ignored you.  
  
"You will now be questioned, full cooperation is advised for your own safety,"  
  
You stared out ahead blankly and all was silent until you heard the sound of graceful footsteps filling the room, and behind the transparent wall was a man. A black man with immaculate dress, fine shoes and a patch over one eye. You wondered for a second what had happened to it, and his stoic expression betrayed nothing to you.  
  
"Two years ago you were under SHIELDs protective custody, and now you return to us, two years down the line, as our enemy, in a HYDRA issue uniform,"  
  
He turned off the strange walls, surprising you, and brazenly strode on in, hands behind his back, not bothered by the risk of such an action.   
  
"Help me fill in these two years of missing time Misses Rhodes, and do tell the truth, because thirty people died last night and the public would just love a head to hang for it,"  
  
He was blunt, and you  merely let him carry on talking, trying to gather your thoughts.  
  
"See, thirty people out of over 25,000 Lyoft employees and civilians is a small miracle for a disaster that size, But ain't nobody here gonna pat you on the ass and tell you ya did a good job, because we know your people planted those bombs in the first place. Tell me why,"  
  
You sighed, his attitude was like so many men you'd already dealt with that you couldn't find it in you to quail, not even out of showing some sort of respect for the obvious gravitas the man held.  
  
Captured by the enemy. Perfect.   
  
"You'll have my head, the public'll have my head, if I talk to you, HYDRA will definitely have my head. What, what can you do? What can you do to me that's worse than what HYDRAs done? Don't come in here and threaten me Mister Big Man," you lolled your head to one side and your neck gave a painful click. Your whole body hurt, even on the comfortable stretcher - it was exhaustion from using all of your ability like that. You were still paying the consequences.   
  
"I've had enough of men threatening me," now that part did sound petulant even to your own ears, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.  "I don't know that much more that what you know anyway Eyepatch. HYDRA said they'd do a diversionary tactic, then our team was to be deployed and everyone had their own objective. Mine was to kill the Scarlet Witch," you said in a snappish tone. Your throat hurt too, you could have done with water, but you weren't wholly fond of the man's attitude.  
  
That was about all he could get from you, your body ached and hurt, and you felt a soreness in your skull that made it tilt forward. So far you understood you were in the captivity of SHIELD, but in between pauses for breathe and the man talking, you wondered if you were in fact, simply held deep beneath the water of the chemical tank with a meaty fist around your neck, and if you would wake up shortly after back on the contortion chair back in the Appalachian HYDRA base. In which case, your previous impudence was not to be rewarded. You felt a wave of sickness hit you as the wave of uncertainty and panic started to settle over your body.   
  
There had been a debriefing before deployment, to prepare you for the outside, but it had been quick and shoddy and relied on the fact you had only been at the base for a short amount of time, Trogos and Lazarus's had been so much thorough, but it served as a detriment to you. When your world had previously been so terribly insular and marked only by the entry and exit of HYDRA personnel, that and the combined use of your abilities proved overwhelming.  
  
Fury noticed you slipping in and out consciousness when he spoke, struggling to comprehend where you were after reflecting understanding, like you had one leg in a dream and the other in reality. It became a fast blur to you, which supported this, because you weren't sure what you were saying and what you were thinking - you were so tired and your mind completely torn between the world you had come from and where you were now.  
  
Even Fury had to call it in when he realised he wasn't going to get much out of you so quickly, and had to call in SHIELD sanctioned psychologists instead when you started feeding him answers you were sure would please Rowle, under the terrifying thought that this could turn out to be a simulation trick which you'd been exposed to once but it had bred an utter distrust and crushed rebellion from you. You waited for the angry German belting into your ears, you'd even grown frustrated at on point, and accused Fury of "talking scheisse," - knowing Rowle liked it when you spoke German, a language of choice bred into you through training and forced immersion. You found if Rowle responded kindly and as though observing something novel when you responded to him in his mother tongue, and you begged him to end this awful trick, and apologised, for snapping and responding to him as though he were the enemy.  
  
Miserable whimpers of "Entschuldigung," peppered with expressions of tiredness and honest "I don't knows," left Fury wondering if he should feel vaguely bad, as he stared into your cloudy eyes which struggled to focus on him.  
  
"What's wrong with her?" he asked, and the on-sight psychologist who seemed to be taking furious notes the entire duration of questioning.  
  
"Her situational awareness is up for debate, symptoms of extreme trauma in the form of blacking out on things you've asked her are fairly evident, on top of the report on her vitals which are fine but reflecting severe exhaustion that should have cleared up hours ago. My German from my school days is a little rusty, but from what I'm gathering - she seems to be alternating between understanding she's with SHIELD and thinking she's back at HYDRA. On parity with Winter Soldier's evaluation, her case seems just as severe, her deprogramming might need to happen right now because I don't think you'll get much out of her like this," the young man gestured crudely to your whole body and continued speaking as though you weren't there, but by now your discontent German and English mumbling were being recorded and not directly paid attention to as Fury listened to the examiner.   
  
"Fine, put her in monitoring then and I'll be reviewing the footage from the dark room--"  
  
And that set you off. Just those two words.  
  
Dark room.  
  
The Dark Room in the SHIELD base was in fact, an innocuous viewing room stacked with surveillance that is used to confidently review footage and recordings from remote locations and a few other minor things, but in the HYDRA base, those two words took on a much more sinister meaning.  
  
  
**"** _ **NO!"**_  
  
  
The doctor jumped and Fury bristled, and Tony Stark - who was behind a viewing wall with headphones, listening to the questioning, all but yanked them out at the sudden shriek that made the recording levels on the monitoring software shoot up to the red zone briefly.  
  
"Don't take me to the Dark Room," you didn't know what you'd done that warranted a place as bad as the Dark Room, but the mere mention of those two words together, from Fury's mouth, regardless of context, sent your entire body into an inconsolable panic. The worst part is, you couldn't fully remember why the Dark Room was so scary, but it made you dry-heave and your whole body give way to classic signs of severe anxiety and a panic attack, trying to discourage further thought about the Dark Room and anything it entailed.  
  
" _Don'ttakemetotheDarkRoomdon'ttakmetotheDarkRoompleaseIdon'tknowwhatIdidbutI'msorry,"_  
  
Tony was frowning and clutching both sides of the headphones with a strong clench, suddenly feeling a sense of foreboding when he broke down each word of your babbles quietly in a soft whisper to himself.  
  
' _Don't take me to the Dark Room. Don't take me to the Dark Room. Please. I don't know what I did but I'm sorry.'_  
  
If Tony was growing uncomfortable, he wasn't sure how Fury wasn't - or maybe he was - and wasn't showing it, because he dismissed himself and left you to the mercy of psychologists, only to see Tony's somewhat disturbed face at the monitoring desk.  
  
They had to inject you to get you out of your flurry of panic. It would be days before you were coherent long enough to question and fully believing you really were with SHIELD. In that mean time, the damaged part of the city had been cordoned off and a vigil held for those that had died in what the papers were calling the Lyoft Terror Attack, journalists hungered for a statement from SHIELD which could be boiled down to " _We can't tell you anything yet,"_ and everyone wanted to know the mystery behind you. Astute denizens of the internet had quickly - during real time in fact, the moment the news broke and was live streamed everywhere, quickly registered you as the Kentucky Bloody Bride and your agent name had gotten out there from all of the shouting and some of the videos already uploaded. Agent Dowager - or just "The Dowager," - which seemed to appeal more than their old name for you.   
People wondered if you were really the hero, or the cause, or behind some greater conspiracy, the airwaves were filled with nothing but you and the Avengers and the  _mystery_ of it all.  
  
Bucky Barnes had to be honest when questioned that he had no idea what "The Dark Room," was, but did disclose that higher mountain bases, like the one he'd been in, tended to operate almost completely disassociated from the hierarchy of HYDRA if left alone long enough. This appeared to be the case.  
  
The first thing that had betrayed that you were not a regular HYDRA assassin was your very human reactions, you hadn't been a cold, inscrutable thing like the Winter Soldier. You emoted between your aloof and indomitable mask, and your behaviour had a different kind of discipline to it, you'd had a different kind of treatment, but it had broken you all the same.  
  
It became apparent the most when, attempting to be humane, a young doctor tried to give you a sandwich. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich. You stared at it with distrust, and then disbelief that it was for you. In fact, you'd left it to go hard and inedible to the air because you were too frightened to take it, assuming it was some unfair trick at your expense. Your stomach had known nothing but gruel outfitted with the vitamins and nutrients of superfoods, so much so that your body eventually began to reject the monotony and you weren't building muscle anymore so Rowle was forced to put it dry, hardish bread, just so your body could abide it. Stromm used to tease you though, and take food away often, so no, you didn't trust the sandwich.  
  
It wasn't until they brought in your past that deprogramming had started to work. There was videos of your graduation played on a sizeable holographic screen before your eyes. You were much shorter, The Blue had made you grow to an impressive height of 6"2, but back then when you'd graduated you were 5"7-8ish, you had your hair trimmed shorter than it was now, much shorter, and straightened flat and not the long, impressive fan-out fluff it was right now. You had smiled broadly, holding your diploma in your hand, your face was carefree, there was promise and joy in your youthful eyes and it was like staring at somebody else, like a more successful twin.  
  
Your voice was soft and small, yet betrayed a sense of loss in your own disbelief at what you were seeing.  
  
_"...Oh my God, I was so happy..."_  
  
You were staring at a feeling that was so absent from your body, that if it ever manifested, was tiny and fleeting, allowed in short bursts only.   
  
That was when you first started showing progress in deprogramming, the next had been when you saw video of yourself at the U.N - passionately condemning the abuses that had been allowed to purvey in North Korea, not days after you knew someone who had been demoted for protesting the addition of Saudi Arabia onto the Human Rights council because they were an oil ally of the United States. You remembered how vehement you had been on what you called "Chinese inaction," and how they were comfortably propping up the North Korean regime, and how the only way forward is if we can manufacture a better deal and get their support for destabilisation of the government and that would only be if we could gain Russian support. It had been a talk that gained all sorts of backlash until footage had been leaked by a whistleblower onto the internet that essentially protected your career and you'd become a political force to be reckoned with even if they were inviting you to speak less and less, offering you desk work with more pay just to shut you up, or sending you to dangerous places away from the love of your life....  
  
And then they showed you Danny.  
  
They somehow found some shitty quality video that had been hosted on a third-rate website that had tried to compete with the major media empire of YouTube and Google.  Somehow, SHIELD had found a poor quality video of your deceased husband and you. Danny had his guitar on his lap and you were grinning like an idiot, talking about how you'd been in band at school but never quite made music the way he did.   
  
The audio quality had been excellent though, and you found yourself shaking from head to toe, eyes glued to Daniel Rhodes, dressed in muddy overalls but still handsome as ever, hair tied back and the most melodic voice you'd ever heard from a man.   
  
_My rollin' girl, I've never known someone so sure,  
  
My rollin' girl, piece of the city,_  
  
You missed his voice, and his smile, and his face, free of suffering, his sparkling eyes and his love of bourbon and God, it had been two years since you'd thought about him but the wound felt as fresh as yesterday. You asked them to turn it off because it was causing you physical pain right then and you weren't sure you had it in you to start crying, because if you started, you were certain you wouldn't be able to stop.  
  
It was like a rush of memories were coming back to you - meetings, offices in Cincinnati, offices in Brussels, NYC and then stomach-churning trips to embassies in hostile nations, the abject terror you'd felt from the plastic expressions of people in Pyongyang who weren't to know your true purpose.   
  
Russian unease, men with Kalashnikovs on their backs when you surveyed conditions of a labour camp in Siberia, hours in a university study hall, night classes in languages, groceries from the gas station, your first apartment being filled with roaches, wedding planning, your family refusing to come to your wedding except your brother, being little and being fed off-brand mac 'n cheese....memories of a life forgotten from HYDRA came pouring back with such speed that you wondered how your mind hadn't fallen apart.  
  
_Danny's hands on your hips....kissing him....dropping cheese on him in Rupp Arena at your first basketball game...the bloody wedding...the men in boots..._  
  
How you'd hunted down Bergstrum with the intent to kill him...and to this day didn't have the answer that your hunt into the Appalachian mountains was all for, and instead turned into your captivity, it all hit like a ton of bricks. It had never truly left, merely pushed to the wayside in favour of survival.  
  
Your voice sounded odd to your ears, no longer fraught with panic, nor was it it's icy trained monotone that betrayed nothing. You looked up into a camera lens, seeing your unrested and haggard expression stare back at you. racked with emotion as you tried desperately to 'return to yourself' - and think thoughts you dared not think for fear of reprisal.   
  
_"My name is Antoinette Rhodes and I've been missing for two years, please help me,"_  
  
Small and broken, unfitting of the strong force you were and had been, strands of hair sticking to your face, your body screaming at you in rage for not accepting food from SHIELD except water. It was like someone had flipped a switch and you'd finally crumbled.  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
You had learned the black man you'd dubbed crudely as 'Eyepatch' was someone called Nick Fury, and you had been hooked up to a polygraph when it was deemed that you were ready for the level of questioning he'd tried to do upon your initial capture.  
  
You told him everything you knew, which, admittedly wasn't much, but you tried. You described where the base was, you drew what you remembered of the layout but knew most about the inside. You didn't know where the training room had been in, you were blinded to and from certain areas. You listed all the names of the people on the site you knew of, why you'd escaped their custody two years. You told him how badly you wanted to kill Bergstrum Rowle. How he eventually became the only thing you had.   
  
You told him about The Blue - the T2-9400.   
  
"Artur was the only one who was ever nice to me without taking something from me or being intentionally cruel. He did bad things but there's not a cruel bone - metal or otherwise, inside of him," you said insistently.  
  
"It had been so long since either of us had seen a kid...in truth I'd have ignored him and focused on killing the Scarlet Witch, but when I weighed up how much I care about my only ally and killing a woman I don't know - assignment or not. I knew that when I saw him standing over that child that he would not leave the impact zone. So I made a split second decision to try to stop Lyoft from falling. None of us were told what the diversionary tactic would be, just that it had already been 'taken care of' - and that whatever it was would be enough to lure out the Avengers,"  
  
The needle of the polygraph didn't spike at all, you were telling the truth and Fury could tell from monitoring your vitals, people could outsmart polygraphs, but he'd had you tested unwittingly and hooked up earlier and asked you things which were blatant lies just to see if you could trick the machine in any way.  
  
The answer was no, and the needle would go crazy every time you lied, so he had pause to trust this one, as you hadn't even known he had tested the machine on you from day one - being too delirious to notice.  
  
"So, you are telling me none of you or your accompanying agents were aware of the bombs planted on Lyoft Enterprises foundations?" his good eye bored into you, you did not quail.  
  
"Correct, none of us knew. We didn't even know our deployment date, but I suspect Artur - Agent Trogos - pushed it forward early, because our debriefing was rough."  
  
This was also true.  
  
He drilled you about everyone else's orders, and in truth you didn't know much when he questioned you, but everything you gave plus your unsure commentary counted for truth, you tied to cooperate, because the idea of freedom was finally -  _finally -_ dawning on you, fighting your cynicism and almost winning.  
  
"Trogos told me that his initial purpose was different, but he doesn't like to talk about it. Something went wrong, but they augmented and recovered him and focused on making his abilities have some level of parity with the Iron Man suit. His eventual orders would be to kill Tony Stark, but his primary objective was the recovery of the Winter Soldier sir,"   
  
He paced around you and frankly it gave you a headache.  
  
"The other one? The one you referred to as Lazarus,"  
  
He noticed how you soured at his mention and gave a half-shrug in your comfortable restriction, you'd also been good and not exhibited you telekinetic ability at all since capture, but still had odd fits where something had set you off and made you think you were dealing with HYDRA again, but besides that, Fury found you oddly malleable.   
  
"He was augmented for the destruction of the fellow you call 'the Vision' ? We were supposed to pick you off one by one. Anti-Avengers they called us. Winter Soldier was to be returned to his main assignment for the extermination of Steve Rogers, and uhm... well, I think the plan was to either augment us further or find more testers for the T2-9400 and pick off everyone else. That's all I know,"   
  
Questioning lasted hours, sometimes the same question a different way, eventually you found out why - because they were going to discharge you into the custody of the Avengers, and you would leave the Safe Room. It was something that was in motion when it became apparent that you may be more of a victim than an assailant, but it was also for the sake of keeping you under heavy supervision, and being a potential asset.  
  
That, and a good portion of America demanded to see you, and many were hoping for you to be their new hero, and God, Nick Fury did not trust anyone easily, he certainly didn't trust you much, even less than he trusted Bucky, but there was a tangible brokenness about you that he didn't know how to deal with, and it may have helped impact his decision. It certainly did for Stark, who technically owned the building.  
  
So yes, you would be released.  
  
\-----  
  
  
It was some time since questioning, but they eventually asked you what you wanted, and the fact that they had was jarring and you weren't sure why they'd asked it, but you hadn't been able to give them a coherent answer. You heard some rumblings about a registry, and having to approach the U.N again, and as a former member of their ranks, it would be a strange thing for you - something about registering yourself as a meta-human.  
  
"Oh, is that what they call it?" a hint of amusement in your tone. You weren't sure why that stuck out to you, but it did, you never really addressed what the newfound power of The Blue made you, because every answer brought you closer to what Lazarus and Trogos were, and that was noticeably not human.   
  
There was an implied choice from Fury on the matter, but it was apparently, strongly encouraged. You had time though, because your tragedy and status report and former known position within the echelons of the U.N and it's affiliated organisations would have been seen more than a little rough in demanding you to sign up to the Superhero Registration Act's database.  
  
You didn't really think about it much for the time being, to you, that was paper. Meta-humans would do whatever needs to be done and no amount of bureaucracy despite political implications, could feasibly stop them. You knew that much, but you also understood why it existed - at least in theory.  
  
There appeared to be some sort of meeting held about you, that had decided upon your eventual release, after stressing you would not pose a threat to Wanda Maximoff, you had eventually been led out of the Safe Room. You would have a rotation of RAs, which they called "Responsible Agents," - that would manage everything about your forceful integration into the Avengers. There was a lady psychologist by the name of Marie Ann Smith, a nice woman if not just a little dotty in your opinion, Dr Cyrus Porter was responsible for monitoring the effects of the T2-9400 on your day to day life, and you absolutely were not to leave the tower until such a time as the media storm lessened.   
  
If, and there was a large stress on that "if" - you were to leave, you had to be accompanied by a "Hero" or a team of RAs. Your behaviours, both good and bad, were going to be monitored, and you were the subject of some doubt and mistrust for many of the SHIELD desk-jockeys not present for questioning. The situation was a tense one to be sure, and you weren't even sure you were really welcome. Topped with that, was the threat of being put into cryogenic freezing if you even attempted to escape.   
  
They led you on weak legs towards the end of the room, which only out of your confinement could you see how truly immense it was, and rich with technology that put the HYDRA base to utter shame. It was like you didn't have enough eyes in your head as you followed Nick Fury silently.  
  
He swiped a card and typed some digits into a keypad that you didn't see, but the door opened much like an airlock, and the fresh air hit you first.  
  
You stepped out into a clear corridor with a nice mesh of colours and glass that showed the beauty of downtown Manhattan and the recovering area that was once Lyoft Enterprises. You stared at for as long as you were allowed, a flash of guilt over the raw devastation you had been a part of.   
  
"Welcome to casa-de-la-Stark, now the Avenger Tower 2.0," you saw the reflection of a man in the immaculate glass. You span around quickly, sending a large whip of your admittedly immense dark hair into him, making him raise a hand deftly. You were an inch or two bigger than him, and so looked him in the eye easily, taking him in and being noticeably on guard.   
  
You took him in critically, some people would regard him handsome, the goatee, the I-Know-Better-Than-You glint behind intelligent eyes, good frame, and obviously the excessively wealthy business mogul that owned the building you were standing in. Not your type, but something about his attitude was refreshing, and it took some brass balls to stand next to someone who had as much ability as you'd exhibited.  
  
"Tony Stark, at your service," he said, and stuck out his hand.  
  
You stared at it, how long had it been since somebody treated you so humanely besides Artur?  
  
"Well don't leave me hanging," he scoffed, making your hand automatically find itself locking with his - he gave a firm handshake, the kind that oozed confidence.   
  
"Antoinette Rhodes," you replied lamely. You were like a captivity bred zoo animal dropped back into the wild and it showed with how you struggled to take everything in and looked a hot mess.  
  
"I know," he said smartly, as though to purposefully make you feel more awkward - you were getting the vague feeling this man had a bit of a strange personality, but you'd met worse men, you decided, but regarded him warily.   
  
"Everyone already has the forward on your situation and the babysitting," he made crude reference to the RAs, but you didn't bristle "-so all we need to do is get you settled in your room,"  
  
You didn't say anything, but furrowed your brow in confusion.  
  
"When you say 'everyone' Herr Stark?"  
  
He raised a brow when you called him Herr Stark, and didn't correct you straight away because you said it so strangely. You noticeably cringed at your own wording when it resulted at that weird expression he gave you, but he didn't react negatively, instead taking mental note of it.  
  
"Everyone. The whole team. Steve, Wanda, Vision, Barnes, Sam, yadda yadda all the Avengers you picked a fight with. Those guys," he said.  
  
You didn't know how to respond to that, so you stacked up your mask of aloofness and opted to maintain it as much as you could, and said nothing in reply.  
  
"Your room is camera'd, so long as you live on the premises, consider wherever you are to be more or less bugged for safety," he expected some response like 'what, bathroom too?' or some discomfort, but you had been degraded much worse. HYDRA had bred out a sense of body shame.  
  
When you realised he was waiting for a response, you responded blandly.  
  
"Of course," like it made all the sense in the world, and in truth it did, this place housed the most powerful people in the world, who often were the only thing that stood between the world and imminent destruction, any of them going AWOL is just as big a danger as anything they fight.  
  
You followed him down this long winding corridor, the only occasional sound was the soft squeak of the HYDRA skin-suit you'd yet to peel out of. You kept a step behind Tony but kept to his pace so you wouldn't lag, like a stalking shadow behind him, he didn't seem the least bit outwardly uncomfortable.  
  
He led you down to a room that had a similar air-lock like door but marginally less heavy-duty appearing, there was no keypad, just a card slot. Tony slid down a master ID for the building and the door opened at once, confronting you with a wide, almost penthouse-sized sort of living space.   
  
There was a queen-sized bed and beige walls, with deep red carpets and walls which were entire windows with an electronic blinds system. At one corner was a desk and chair, a power-strip for additional outlets on the ground beside it, and parallel to that, a door that was half-open and led to a pristine marble bathroom, and finally, a tall oak wardrobe that was even taller than you.  
  
"This has to be a mistake," you said after a moment, only for Tony to reply sharply.  
  
"No mistake. This is your assigned quarters. The only person you share this floor with accommodation wise is Barnes, so lucky you, you get the HYDRA floor," he said in a dry tone, you weren't sure if he was being snide or not, but some mental deduction made it obvious you would be within easy distance of the Winter Soldier. You weren't sure how you felt about that.  
  
"Now, your RAs and babysitters and whomever else they feel like assigning you has around the clock access to your room. When you're not under strict monitoring someone will talk you through how the locking system works. I don't imagine you'll be leaving the building for a while though, so I might as well give you this now," he gave you a strange card that had an almost holographic nature to it. There was no photo identification on it yet - but it merely read "Agent of SHIELD, R783," - which was the number engraved above the strange high-tech door.  
  
"You get a lackey pass for now, anyone will know where you are in the building, zones you're not allowed in won't open, you get unrestricted access when you're trusted. If you need anything from somewhere you can't go to - plum luck. Call a babysitter,"  
  
He made no compunctions on the fact you were a glorified prisoner, but he was met with no resistance - and that truly did disturb him.  
  
He was about to leave too, until you blurted out a question, aloofness cracking.  
  
"Do I get a bath?"  
  
Tony gave you a strange look that compelled you to talk, you weren't asking  _him_ to give you a bath after all.   
  
"In base, all we had were decontamination showers," a hint of meekness in your tone that was very much not you. The last time you had asked for something like that, Stromm had packed his meaty fist around your neck and shoved your face into a sink basin filled with water.  
  
"It's a shower-bath fixture, knock yourself out," Tony replied carelessly, he had a Jacuzzi in his, naturally, and so to him he found the HYDRA floor rather lacking.   
  
"Wash up, you look like you need it, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do," he didn't wait to be 'excused' in any sense, and left you standing in the room dumbly staring after him.   
  
No escape. No attack. Nothing. If you escaped you'd be back with Rowle, and you hadn't seen Stromm in a while now, so that was good. Rowle could take care of you, and you'd be near Artur, you could see if he was okay. But it'd be day after day of training and God only knows what punishment from being captured by the enemy.  
  
Besides, the enemy gave you memories back, things that you feel the way you hadn't been allowed to feel in so long. You could finally think about your husband, Danny, and cope with the unimaginable waves of pain. This was where revenge had taken you.   
  
Evil could be many things, it could be cold, callous, cruel, but even kind. Rowle was still evil, that was what your previous memories told you - it shoved your life at HYDRA into an uncomfortable exposing light that even the small acts of kindness were built to operantly condition you. Marie Ann Smith, your darling psychologist, was eager to point this out to you, and encouraged your uncomfortable warble into this strange mental territory where you had to address your bizarre relationship with the man you'd wanted to kill.  
  
The woman, who was also one of your main RAs, had made her way to your room shortly after and found you sitting on your bed, looking like a fish out of water, looking out at the big window with a blank expression.  
  
"You haven't been eating or taking care of yourself in holding, so what I've done is, see, I've brought some things - it isn't much - it seemed in all the ruckus your arrival, nobody made the proper provisions at all, imagine my shock!" you liked Marie Ann Smith, you decided. Something about her was different from everyone in the city, she was every inch the Southern lady, but educated as they come, maybe she was chosen on purpose, or it was fate, but she reminded you of the most human side of yourself that you'd long ago had to leave at the door.  
  
You saw her take off a duffel bag she had and put it on the bed, she reminded you terribly of Leanne at that moment, a woman who wouldn't be caught dead without her pearls and sensible heels, even down the road. She didn't care that she didn't fit in with a lot of the other people in SHIELD, she was as qualified as any of them.   
  
"What you're going to do is wash that hair of yours until it's shining lovely," Marie also had access to your file, which had your height, weight and age on it.   
  
"Now I haven't a hope to heaven to find something for a lady of your stature on such short notice and I'd hate to grab you something that rides up. I hope you don't mind something from the men's, why, they have room, board, all the legalities and nobody thought to get you clothes," she tittered.   
  
It had been so long since you'd received a gift, you didn't quite know how to say thank you and convey everything, but you tried, and she kept waving it off.   
  
Inside the duffel was a short sleeved AC/DC t-shirt, clearly picked off the men's sale rack a few sizes too big just so it would reach your height, and some dark track suit bottoms. You'd have to make do with your HYDRA boots tucked under them, but it'd do for now  There were a few pairs of socks in there - thank God! - and some elasticated guess-work underwear, slightly big but it'd do. Considering the poor women couldn't be expected to guess your size and your HYDRA issue uniform came with it's own corset-like bustier, but she'd tried. There was a medium sized sports bra in there since they generally just came in elasticated sizes of small, medium, large - and they apparently were fresh out of large. There was a healthy mix of feminine hygiene products and a plain dollar store hairbrush, some cheap razors, nothing fancy or presumptuous but all the things you needed to get by - a purple toothbrush included.   
  
She noticed your hands were shaking as you gripped the material loosely, you flinched involuntarily when she put her aged hand atop your wrist.  
  
"Wash up darling, you look like you were dragged through a hedge backwards," said Marie, as sweetly as possible.  
  
You almost laughed.  
  
You were excited finally now, at the notion of running a bath. Marie asked you why, and to her credit, did not laugh at you, or think you funny or strange for being excited by something as simple as a bath. In fact, it was so large you were surprised, and it would take a while to fill.   
  
"Two years? Two years and no bath, tell me, what were these chemical showers like?" she asked, and she was blunt about the answers she wanted. No mind games. You appreciated that about her.  
  
"Back to the window, clothes off the ankles, hands either side of your head a certain equal width apart, and then the showers come on. They're harsh and usually cold, I think it was water with some kind of cleaning agent. I always smelled like plastic when I came out of them," you explained, and she mentally took notes.  
  
Marie was silent a long moment, before straightening out the crease in her skirt with a small inhale and a look of resolve.  
  
"Well then, lets see if I can get someone on the lower floor to run to the store a road over and get you some bubble bath hm? If this is going to be your first bath in a while, we should commemorate it,"  
  
You didn't want to be any trouble, but in the end, some poor underling was flooring it on foot to the nearby 99 cents store and getting a cheap children's bubble bath, and by the time she'd gotten to all seven floors and to the room, the bath had only half-filled.  
  
Marie did her best not to gasp, ever professional, merely turned her eyes to her knees as you had forgotten your born-bred shame and began stripping from the skin-suit on the spot. The leathery nature of it squeaked and liberated the skin when it was at your ankles, and the strange liquid-metal that made up the bustier no longer strangled and pushed your chest up when it fell to the floor.   
  
The bubble bath came in a strange children's marketing aimed shape of a bulbous pirate, and pouring it into the bah had been like pouring out his blue brain matter until the whole thing immediately erupted into foamy bubbles. Marie asked you questions from the other room, giving you a level of privacy you weren't used to, you kept the door open between you regardless, to make voices carry over easier.  
  
"Now, I'm monitoring your deprogramming process, any difficulties you may face, and between you and me, I remember you two years ago. In The Louisiana Times, saw your gutted face and it made my heart ache, truly. We never did get to the bottom of it, but I'm suspectin' you'll be called up about any information they find. Mr Fury tells me you were very helpful with what you disclosed, they'll want to return the favour,"   
  
You didn't know what to say to that, and slipped into the steaming hot bath, letting out a small moan of delight as your skin adjusted to the intense heat and began to caress every pain, stress and tension you held inside of you.  
  
"You're from Louisiana?" you latched onto that instead. Both of you talked. For a second, it was like you were normal. Everything was normal. For a hot blissful moment. It was okay.  
  
The bath lasted an hour, an hour of you spilling your guts out an washing your terribly immense hair, when you came out, you saw the bath robe hanging up and it actually fit, even if it rode up your knees a little, and there was a generic pair of bath slippers you gladly wore, towel draped around your shoulders. With it flat and damp, Marie saw it reach so far down your back she was surprised it wasn't at your waist.   
  
"That must be a bitch to take care of," she commented, and you shrugged.    
  
"Rowle brushed me," and you almost immediately balked at your own blurted statement, Marie had a brow raised, but knew how to pick her battles.   
  
"It's a bit kinked at the root, but straight elsewhere, no wonder it looks so big. Girls are killin' for volume like that," said Marie good naturedly.   
  
"I used to have it chemically straightened, you know, before, for work - it's naturally wavy otherwise,"  
  
Before.  
  
She was always happy when you mentioned the before times.  
  
"Who'd you get that from?" she was innocently curious, and you remembered when that was a common question, back with your.....other family.....  
  
"My black daddy," you said bluntly, and God, how long had it been since you had even thought about that man, or either of your parents?   
  
"I'm from Chicago originally but, you probably already had that on a file somewhere," you added, plodding out and sitting down. You didn't think about Chicago much, it had been rough. Too rough. The gas station you worked at even had been held at gunpoint more than once. You took a commute to university because it was cheaper until your brother could support your mum and move her out the slum.  
  
"I understand neither came to your weddin' which - turned to their favour if you'll forgive my bluntness. I did find some numbers for them, I thought you could do with a network of support, but they didn't want to get back to SHIELD at all. I'm sorry if this upsets you, but it's a loose link they're harassin' me to get from you. Woman to woman, I don't think these men are thinkin' about the emotional repercussions of what they're doin',so I'm glad they asked me, but the sooner I have somethin' to tell em, the sooner I can focus on my task of helpin' you through all this,"  
  
You took the hair brush from her and slowly began to go through your dark hair, Marie's eyes trained on you as you did it. Apparently, she was not scared of the tremendous power you wielded, nor did she abide by conventions.   
  
"You're blunt for a psychologist,"  
  
"And you're tall for a girl," Marie shot back without malice.   
  
You sighed, and spoke in a rather detached manner, she noted.   
  
"Momma's name is Lisa, she named me after her French roots, she had family that served in the French Foreign Legion," it was years since you thought about any of this stuff, yet none of it had been erased. It just sat there. Waiting. "-Daddy's name was Ramone. They broke up when I was.....12? 13? They divorced, Daddy worked at a factory, got a raise. Momma started showing signs of early memory loss, he just left," the trace of bitterness in your tone that had always been there when you spoke of him, was replaced by a terrifying monotone. Emptiness.   
  
"She's probably in the home we picked for her if things got worse, and they would. She'd need care we couldn't give eventually, and then I got my degree, and my first deployment to Brussels to sit in on a trade deal at the European Union with one of our allies as work experience. Daddy was in and out of the house when he lost his job. I don't know how. He never talked about it. The last thing he and Momma agreed on was the disappointment that I'd marry 'some hick'," there was bitterness in that mention, because Danny still had a place in your heart, no matter how shot to hell your heart was.  
  
"I think he joined some Black supremacist group last I heard, ironic, since Momma's as white as cornbread,"  
  
Marie had to laugh at that, she didn't know how else to respond to such a turbulent beginning.  
  
"That's why you're not getting a reply, media circus aside, I'm a bit of his past his new buddies probably wouldn't like, heard he even changed his name like how some born-agains do, no idea to what,"  
  
She would have the story checked, of course, but now she had something to tell the people working on your full background check.  
  
"Do you miss Chicago?" she asked, finally.  
  
"That scheisse-hole? Hell no."  
  
And that was that, falling asleep in the comfy bath gown when she left.  
  
  
\--------  
  
You expected to be confined in the room, and you were, for all of a day. Marie had you tasked with making a list - you had all week to do it, but it was of things you wanted and needed - like she was trying to get you back into your own skin.  
  
She did a number of curious things, like the first thing she said she had done the following morning, was contact the university you had attended, and have them re-issue your diploma.  
  
"It's important, to remember who you used to be before HYDRA, even the little things - they help,"   
  
She finally noticed your right arm, and balked before she could stop it, she saw the angry red which had settld as a dark brownish, permanent scarring, deep and vindictive and looking painful, forced, and not at all like an artists's tattoo or body modification work which was often elegant or a least, done with precision. This was though someone had dug with malice into your skin.   
  
"Can we talk about that?" Marie asked softly, you flinched, and it was like a hot flash had overcome you. You felt your cheek pressed against an icy chrome flat surface and how your arm had been put in a vice. You'd screamed and smelt your flesh searing and burning under your own nose before you snapped to, and saw her concerned, blue eyes staring at you.  
  
"No," you said shortly "-it's a branding. and I don't want to talk about it right now,"  
  
You fed her just enough with the promise to divulge later, always the best way to fend off Marie.  
  
"Well, you can't very well walk around with that horror, can you?" her voice, soft and calm, like you hadn't snapped. She had gotten up, and made some calls, everyone had work place safety training, a place as big as this usually had an unused medical wing, and true to form, it did, and she was able to get some bandages. It was a short and ugly solution to what was not a temporary issue, but it was something.   
  
When she said 'walk around' - you had wisely caught another meaning. She thought it was high time you presented yourself to the Avengers.  
  
"The longer you stay holed up here, the more they'll have reason to think you need to be. The quicker you do this, the better, like tearing off a plaster. You can set about making a right with Miss Maximoff too, you'll be better for it, mark my words,"  
  
You were not some feral beast to be caged, some HYDRA mongrel that couldn't control themselves. You had to show them you were better than that. You were a strong, good woman.  
  
Marie reminded you of that a lot - because her husband, Alan, had worked in Lyoft Enterprises, and he was one of thousands you'd saved.  
  
"Fine. I'll do it."  
  
\-------  
  
  
Isn't it about time you had something to eat? Marie had also used that to try to goad you into being more excited, noting how you were made happy by small luxuries. Your diet had been disclosed to Dr Cyrus Porter, who maintained that your body was in an excellent state internally, he displayed some concern when you mentioned food resistance briefly, but that your body could be okay going without food, it would merely torture you with the unending sensation of hunger until you quenched it, your energy would be low, but you would not die. You knew that for certain. Your limits had easily been tested that far in the past.   
  
  
Still, some anxiety persisted, and it was like you were an alien among the human race, and you weren't used to the idea of making peace with people you had physically lashed out against. How could they forgive you for this? More over, they must know so much about you, and you so little of them, that you were a murderer long before you'd become officially HYDRA. How many of them were people of questionable morals before the world called them heroes?  
  
You did not hide the short work you had made of the men at the Appalachian base before your capture, in fact, you had been proud of it, proud of that calculated rage as murder brimmed through your veins and you had killed with purpose. It had been disclosed in a manner that reflected such, and you noticed how nobody commented on that part of you.   
  
Nonetheless, you had always been a brave girl, cowardice was never in your blood and you'd be damned if you curled up in that room like a scolded child. Marie was right. She was always right.   
  
You put your hair in a thick ponytail just to keep it out of your face, and followed an RA to the upper floor. The building had two large canteens for the amount of people who worked there, both served the same thing, but the designated "Avenger Floor," had a shared kitchenette, fridge, living room and lounge space, with dining tables and some shared commodities.  
  
It was now you could realise the different treatment both you and the Winter Soldier had, knowing most, if not all Avenger rooms were on this floor, and both yours and his were one below, "The HYDRA Floor," - but it wasn't like the mistrust wasn't earned. You deserved it - you knew that much.  
  
You stood as highly as anyone could in those clumsily chosen clothes. Your RA blended into the background, then ready to leave. You pretended you had all 8ft of Artur behind you as a strong, supporting weight. You had stared down more frightening men, a long time ago yes, but the memories were still there.. Even if you felt 3ft tall, you fake it until you make it, projecting strength stops your voice drowning in the crowd. Making yourself bigger than a bear sends it running in another direction, and bravery made it so you could stare a dictator in the face - all things learned in your old job. You had also handled HYDRA. You could do this too, you told yourself.  
  
They stared at you - and you were struck by how they radiated a quiet strength. All of them. It oozed in their unity and you were on the outside looking in, even if they had their own internal chasms, you couldn't see them right then.  
  
Steve was the first to break the tension, he walked up to you with purpose and held his hand out. You stood a little taller than most of them, but his bravery broke the unspoken tension in the lounge. You could tell he was a well built man, strong jawed, blond, sparkly-eyed. It jarred a strange memory when you searched his face for lines up close.  
  
"Steve Rogers, nice to meet you properly," properly. As in not trying to kill everyone. You almost snorted.   
  
His handshake was firm but he felt mildly uncomfortable with the harsh scrutinising, until you tried to help ease the tension.  
  
"You haven't changed a bit,"   
  
Now confusion wormed onto his face, and you stretched a weak attempt at a smile.   
  
"I remember you from the black and white movie reels I had to sit through when I minored in history, I swear I...must have seen you punch Hitler a 100 times," you said flatly - yes, you remembered almost falling asleep in Professor Dempsey's class.  
  
The RA began scribbling furiously on a notepad, not in the least expecting you to have a memory trigger because of an Avenger, but it was a good sign, any link to the 'before times' was a good one.  
  
Now, considering the seventy year gap and all of the things Steve had done since then, it wasn’t often people brought up those silly reels anymore, but the attempt at geniality wasn’t lost on him, and he cracked out an earnest smile, even a small laugh as he let go of your hand.  
  
“You’re better in colour,” you added, in an effort to extend the good reaction. Your social movements still felt clunky, but it was a start.   
  
You noticed the man whom you saw out of the corner of your eye, helping Iron Man evacuate Lyoft with mechanical wings, giving you a side-eye, trying to deduce what exactly he thought of you.  
  
Thankfully, it was as though someone else took mercy on you, and surprisingly, it was the suave, confident, feminine force that you could only associate with her and her alone.  
  
“Natasha Romanov,” she said simply, and it was enough to help further bring down the Berlin wall of tension. The man who had a quiet presence of strength – one that eerily reminded you of Artur, did not bother getting up to greet you, but was unfailingly polite.  
  
“Bruce Banner,”   
  
You must have looked pitiable, in those cheap tracksuit bottoms, and a men’s band shirt that barely reached the end of your stomach, obviously some muscle definition that wasn’t strictly “ladylike,” but none too obtrusive, most of it rippled through your torso which was essentially covered like a bag was over it. The sleeves came down so far on your shoulders that it very nearly, almost reached your elbows and it was supposed to be short sleeved, but definitely did if you flexed. Its high masculine collar still dragged down your neck and exposed some collarbone, like you’d been dressed out of the Church charity box – it distracted from the bandage at least. You saw very few glances at it. You had just about washed out the haggard look and lazily tied your fluff back, between that and your naturally harsh stare from above those cheekbones of yours, it was very easy to come off unfriendly – but you were….trying. The RAs noticed that much.  
  
“Sam,” the man giving you the side-eye spoke, you could only nod, and saw the head of red hair which had been staring at you from beside a tall, strange, red figure. He was so strange that it was hard not to stare at him, he distracted from any remains of a hair trigger response to jump down the Scarlet Witch’s throat.   
  
“Miss Maximoff,” you said softly, yet firmly.    
  
Now or never. Rip off that plaster! You thought about it. You’d begun crafting it since Marie mentioning setting things right somehow, and you would not shy from your actions.  
  
“I would apologise but I do not believe sorry constitutes enough for an attempt on your life. All I can say is, I know I don’t have the right to ask anything of you, but I would like if you would please not judge me too harshly for my actions. I was not myself – it is no excuse but it is true all the same. I have not been myself for two years, I do not know if I will ever quite by myself again, but I promise you’re in no danger from me. I promise,”   
There. A carefully grafted apology using wording skills you hadn’t had to summon up in a while, it was earnest, thoughtful, but as careful as a lawyer’s answers. The air had turned terse again, but you saw her nod her head once at you.  
  
“It’s Wanda,” permission to use her first name – that had to be a good sign. Right? You hoped, you didn’t see yourself making best friends with her any time soon, but it was enough to drain the tension once more.  
  
You let out the breath you hadn’t known you had been holding, the strange red creature was Vision, Lazarus’s target, you realised – a strange one at that, you weren’t sure what to think of him. Tony was likely working still, the man owned many businesses after all,  
  
There was James Buchanan Barnes, “-but my friends call me Bucky,” – you resisted the urge to stare at his bionic attachment arm. It reminded you of Artur and you felt a sharp pain whenever you thought of him, knowing he was likely dealing with the hail of rage that came with mission failure, while you were cosied up in SHIELD’s protection.  
  
“Can I call you that?” you asked, obviously recognising you weren’t a friend with how pragmatic and blunt you could be, most people besides Tony called him that, it’d be strange to purposefully alienate you. He and Tony had damn near incurable bad blood from his unforgiven actions as the Winter Soldier, but what reason would he have to deny you without sounding like a dick? He saw the bottomless look of loss in your face and how desperately you had accrued all your strength to present yourself with a modicum of pride, even in those ill matched clothes. He’d had seventy years of HYDRA, he knew what it was to suffer at their hands even if your experiences were likely different or did not match – they were not interchangeable, but there was a common ground there nobody else would understand. Now you were deprogramming, and you had nobody, and notably, all of them knew no parent or blood link had come up willing to talk to or about you to SHIELD when you’d been detained. They all knew you had nothing, and it was all so pathetic, he couldn’t say no. He wasn’t so cold. The Winter Soldier was, but Bucky was not.  
So he gave you the smallest flash of a smile, more of a lip twitch really, and inclined his head and projected a sense of gentlemanliness that only he and Steve, relics of their time, could seem to project.  
  
“Of course,”  
  
Then finally…finally there was Thor and Hawkeye. Hawkeye had made a dry remark that you owed him arrows for how many he ruined on Lazarus, boldly referencing the battle, but his attitude was refreshing, so you didn’t tense up much.  
  
Thor was just something else entirely, perhaps the only one to really stand taller than you, but he was an Asgardian – they all came up larger than life, and he towered to a height of 6”6. His armour was certainly a call back to the days of blacksmithing and physical fighters, not drone strikers and snipers. He oozed a primordial type of strength and his voice was deep and booming, it reminded you of stone shattering. You looked up to face him – he was shockingly handsome up close, but you did not react, not even when he introduced himself as “Thor! God of Thunder!” in such a tone that you wondered if he’d just shouted down at you or not.  
  
He was less attached to the direct events of specific countries on Earth even if he was fond of the places his friends were in, it was only due to timing of his arrival that he’d kept some tab on your past. It was hard to forget your devastated blood-covered face, now staring at him, devoid of so much.  
  
“Antoinette Rhodes, but I’m sure that’s redundant to all of you now,” you addressed everyone, not just Thor, but he took your hand and gave what you guessed must be some formal Asgardian greeting to a lady, because he took your hand and almost without pressure, raised it to his lips, kissed it, and let it drop. You were too overwhelmed by how many people you were introduced to at once to be overtly reacting to it. You might have come off as aloof, or robotic in times, because most women giggled and blushed. You didn’t. You stared right through the Asgardian the way you could stare through anyone else piercingly.  
  
“Most people call me Rhodes these days, or Dowager. Sometimes Anne, but not often. Take your pick, I’ve been called plenty worse. God knows I’d deserve it, it’s enough you’re not keeping me in detainment. So thank you,” you were blunt. Harsh on yourself. Icy, pragmatic and cold, stripping any pretense of obligation for them to be kind to you. You wanted to start from the top but it wouldn’t be that easy, you didn’t deserve to be cut that kind of break so you did not ask for it from the Avengers. They were more than a little surprised with how uncompromising you were with yourself, and returned the social awkwardness back to the room, not that you seemed to notice or care.  
But the RA saved you, clearing her throat.  
  
“You have a scheduled session with Dr Porter,” which gave you a out, so you simply bowed yourself out of the conversation, and gave Marie a thankful look.  
  
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” she grinned.  
  
You glared.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
